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Ian McLaren. 





I'liE Bonnie 
Brier Bush 


AACLAI^KN 


CHICAGO 


W. B. CONKEY COMPANY 


PUBIJSHERS 


36088 




L.ibr«ir7 of Congress 

Tvko Copies Received 

AUG 18 1900 

Opyngfit «ntry 

StCOHD COPY. 

Odiverad ts 

ORDER DIVISION, 

AUG 27 1900 


Copyright, 1900, by W. B. Conkey Company 

68749 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Domsie. 

I. A Lad o’ Pairts 5 

II. How We Carried the News toWhinnie Knowe 1 7 

III. In Marget’s Garden 24 

IV. A Scholar’s Funeral 33 

A Highland Mystic. 

I. What Eye Hath Not Seen 44 

II. Against Principalities and Powers 54 

His Mother’s Sermon 64 

The Transformation of Lachlan Campbell. 

I. A Grand Inquisitor 76 

II. His Bitter Shame 90 

III. Like as a Father 105 

IV. As a Little Child 117 

The Cunning Speech of Drumtochty 129 

A WiEs\ Woman. 

I. Our Sermon Taster 144 

II. The Collapse of Mrs. Macfadyen 155 

3 


4 


CONTENTS. 


A Doctor of the Old School. 

I. A General Practitioner 167 

II. Through the Flood 181 

III. A Fight with Death 195 

IV. The Doctor’s Last Journey 209 

V. The Mourning of the Glen 223 


DOMSIE. 


I. 

A LAD O* PAIRTS. 

The Revolution reached our parish years 
ago, and Drumtochty has a School Board, with 
a chairman and a clerk, besides a treasurer and 
an officer. Young Hillocks, who had two years 
in a lawyer’s office, is clerk, and summons 
meetings by post, although he sees every mem- 
ber at the market or the kirk. Minutes are 
read with much solemnity, and motions to ex- 
pend ten shillings upon a coal-cellar door 
passed, on the motion of Hillocks, seconded by 
Drumsheugh, who are both severely prompted 
for the occasion, and move uneasily before 
speaking. 

Drumsheugh was at first greatly exalted by 
his poll, and referred freely on market days 
to his “plumpers,” but as time went on the 
irony of the situation laid hold upon him. 

“Think o’ you an me. Hillocks, veesitin’ 
the schule and sittin’ wi’ bukes in oor hands 
watchin’ the Inspector. Keep’s a’, it’s eneuch 
to mak’ the auld Dominie turn in his grave. 
Twa meenisters cam’ in his time, and Domsie 
5 


6 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

put Geordie Hoo or some ither gleg laddie, 
that was makin’ for college, thro’ his facin’ s, 
and maybe some bit lassie brocht her copy- 
buke. Syne they had their dinner, and Domsie 
tae, wi’ the Doctor. Man, a’ve often thocht it 
was the prospeck o’ the Schule Board and its 
weary bit rules that feenished Domsie. He 
wasna maybe sae shairp at the elements as this 
pirjinct body we hae noo, but a’body kent he 
was a terrible scholar and a credit tae the par- 
ish. Drumtochty was a name in thae days wi’ 
the lads he sent tae college. It was maybe 
juist as weel he slippit avva’ when he did, for 
he wud hae taen ill with thae new fikes, and 
nae college lad to warm his hert. ’ ’ 

The present school-house stands in an open 
place beside the main road to Muirtown, 
treeless and comfortless, built of red, staring 
stone, with a playground for the boys and an- 
other for the girls, and a trim, smug-looking 
teacher’s house, all very neat and symmetrical, 
and well regulated. The local paper had a 
paragraph headed “ Drumtochty, ” written by 
the Muirtown architect, describing the whole 
premises in technical language that seemed to 
compensate the ratepayers for the cost, men- 
tioning the contractor’s name, and concluding 
that “this handsome building of the Scoto- 
Grecian style was one of the finest works that 
had ever come from the accomplished archi- 
tect’s hands. ” It has pitch-pine benches and 
map-cases, and a thermometer to be kept at 
not less than 58 degrees and not more than 62 
degrees, and ventilators which the Inspector 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


7 


is careful to examine. When I stumbled in 
last week the teacher was drilling the children 
in Tonic Sol-fa with a little harmonium, and I 
left on tiptoe. 

It is difficult to live up to this kind of thing, 
and my thoughts drift to the auld schule-house 
and Domsie. Some one with the love of God 
in his heart had built it long ago, and chose a 
site for the bairns in the sweet pine woods at 
the foot of the cart road to Whinnie Knowe 
and the upland farms. It stood in a clearing 
with the tall Scotch firs round three sides, and 
on the fourth a brake of gorse and bramble 
bushes, through which there was an opening 
to the road. The clearing was the playground, 
and in summer the bairns annexed as much 
wood as they liked, playing tig among the 
trees, or sitting down at dinner-time on the 
soft, dry spines that made an elastic carpet 
everywhere. Domsie used to say there were 
two pleasant sights for his old eyes every day. 
One was to stand in the open at dinner-time 
and see the flitting forms of the healthy, rosy, 
sonsie bairns in the wood, and from the door in 
the afternoon to watch the schule skail till each 
group was lost in the kindly shadow, and the 
merry shouts died away in this quiet place. 
Then the Dominie took a pinch of snuff and 
locked the door, and went to his house beside 
the school. One evening I came on him listen- 
ing bare-headed to the voices, and he showed 
so kindly that I shall take him as he stands. A 
man of middle height, but stooping below it, 
with sandy hair turning to gray, and bushy 


8 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


eye-brows covering keen, shrewd gray eyes. 
You will notice that his linen is coarse, but 
spotless, and that, though his clothes are worn 
almost threadbare, they are well brushed and 
orderly. But you will be chiefly arrested by 
the Dominie’s coat, for the like of it was not 
in the parish. It was a black dress coat, and 
no man knew when it had begun its history; 
in its origin and its continuance it resembled 
Melchisedek. Many were the myths that 
gathered round that coat, but on this all were 
agreed, that without it we could not have real- 
ized the Dominie, and it became to us the sign 
and trappings of learning. He had taken a 
high place at the University, and won a good 
degree, and I’ve heard the Doctor say that he 
had a career before him. But something hap- 
pened in his life, and Domsie buried himself 
among the woods with the bairns of Drum- 
tochty. No one knew the story, but after he 
died I found a locket on his breast, with a 
proud, beautiful face within, and I have fan- 
cied it was a tragedy. It may have been in 
substitution that he gave all his love to the 
children, and nearly all his money, too, help- 
ing lads to college, and affording an inexhaust- 
ible store of peppermints for the little ones. 

Perhaps one ought to have been ashamed of 
that school -house, but yet it had its own dis- 
tinction, for scholars were born there, and now 
and then to this day some famous man will 
come and stand in the deserted playground for 
a space. The door was at one end, and stood 
open in summer so that the boys saw the rab- 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


9 


bits come out from their holes on the edge of 
the wood, and birds sometimes flew in un- 
heeded. The fireplace was at the other end, 
and was fed in winter with the sticks and peats 
brought by the scholars. On one side Domsie 
sat with the half-dozen lads he hoped to send 
to college, to whom he grudged no labor, and 
on the other gathered the very little ones, who 
used to warm their bare feet at the fire, while 
down the sides of the room the other scholars 
sat, at their rough old desks, working sums and 
copying. Now and then a class came up and 
did some task, and at times a boy got the tawse 
for his negligence, but never a girl. He kept 
the girls in as their punishment, with a brother 
to take them home, and both had tea in Dom- 
sie ’s house, with a bit of his best honey, depart- 
ing much torn between an honest wish to please 
Domsie and a pardonable longing for another 
tea. 

“Domsie,'* as we called the schoolmaster, 
behind his back in Drumtochty, because we 
loved him, was true to the tradition of his kind, 
and had an unerring scent for “pairts” in his 
laddies. He could detect a scholar in the egg, 
and prophesied Latinity from a boy that seemed 
fit only to be a cowherd. It was believed that 
he had never made a mistake in judgment, and 
it was not his blame if the embryo scholar did 
not come to birth. “Five and thirty years 
have I been minister at Drumtochty,” the 
Doctor used to say at school examinations, 
“and we have never wanted a student at the 
University, and while Dominie Jamieson lives. 


10 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

we never shall.” Whereupon Domsie took 
snuff, and assigned his share of credit to the 
Doctor, ‘‘who gave the finish in Greek to every 
lad of them, without money and without price, 
to make no mention of the higher mathemat- 
ics. ” Seven ministers, four schoolmasters, 
four doctors, one professor, and three civil 
service men had been sent out by the auld 
schule in Domsie’s time, besides many that 
“had given themselves to mercantile pursuits. ” 

He had a leaning to classics and the profes- 
sions, but Domsie was catholic in his recogni- 
tion of “pairts,” and when the son of Hillocks’ 
foreman made a collection of the insects of 
Drumtochty, there was a council at the manse. 
“Bumbee Willie,” as he had been pleasantly 
called by his companions, was rescued from 
ridicule and encouraged to fulfil his bent. Once 
a year a long letter came to Mr. Patrick Jam- 
ieson, M.A., Schoolmaster, Drumtochty, N. B., 
and the address within was the British Mu- 
seum. When Domsie read this letter to the 
school, he was always careful to explain that 
“Dr. Graham is the greatest living authority 
on beetles,” and, generally speaking, if any 
clever lad did not care for Latin, he had the 
alternative of beetles. 

But it was Latin Domsie hunted for as for 
fine gold, and when he found the smack of it 
in a lad he rejoiced openly. He counted it a 
day in his life when he knew certainly that he 
had hit on another scholar, and the whole 
school saw the identification of George Howe. 
For a winter Domsie had been “at point,” 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 11 


racing George through Cassar, stalking him 
behind irregular verbs, baiting traps with tit- 
bits of Virgil. During these exercises Domsie 
surveyed George from above his spectacles with 
a hope that grew every day in assurance, and 
came to its height over a bit of Latin prose. 
Domsie tasted it visibly, and read it again in 
the shadow of the firs at meal- time, slapping 
his leg twice. 

“He’ll dae! he’ll dae!’’ cried Domsie, aloud, 
ladling in the snuff. “George, ma mannie, 
tell yir father that I am cornin’ up to Whinnie 
Knowe the nicht on a bit o’ business.’’ 

Then the “schule” knew that Geordie Hoo 
was marked for college, and pelted him with 
fir cones in great gladness of heart. 

“Whinnie” was full of curiosity over the 
Dominie’s visit, and vexed Marget sorely, to 
whom Geordie had told wondrous things in the 
milk-house. “It canna be coals ’at he’s want- 
in’ frae the station, for there’s a fell puckle 
left. ” 

“And it’ll no be seed taties,” she said, pursu- 
ing the principle of exhaustion, “for he hes 
some Perthshire reds himsel’. 1 doot it’s some- 
thin’ wrangwith Geordie, ’’and Whinnie started 
on a new track. 

“He’s been playin’ truant maybe. A’ mind 
gettin’ ma paiks for birdnestin’ masel. I’ll 
wager that’s the verra thing.” 

“Weel, yir wrang, Weelum,” broke in Mar- 
get. Whinnie’s wife, a tall, silent woman, with 
a speaking face; “it’s naither the ae thing nor 
the ither, but something I’ve been prayin’ for 


12 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

since Geordie was a wee bairn. Clean yirsel’ 
and meet Domsie on the road, for nae man 
deserves more honour in Drumtochty, naither 
laird nor farmer. ’ ’ 

Conversation with us was a leisurely game, 
with slow movements and many pauses, and it 
was our custom to handle all the pawns before 
we brought the queen into action. 

Domsie and Whinnie discussed the weather 
with much detail before they came in sight of 
George, but it was clear that Domsie was 
charged with something weighty, and even 
Whinnie felt that his own treatment of the tur- 
nip crop was wanting in repose. 

At last Domsie cleared his throat and looked 
at Marget, who had been in and out, but ever 
within hearing. 

“George is a fine laddie, Mrs. Howe. “ 

An ordinary Drumtochty mother, although 
bursting with pride, would have responded, 
“He’s weel eneuch, if he hed grace in his 
heart,” in a tone that implied it was extremely 
unlikely, and that her laddie led the reprobates 
of the parish. As it was, Marget’s face light- 
ened, and she waited. 

“What do you think of making him?” and 
the Dominie dropped the words slowly, for this 
was a moment in Drumtochty. 

There was just a single ambition in those 
humble homes, to have one of its members at 
college, and if Domsie approved a lad, then 
his brothers and sisters would give their wages, 
and the family would live on skim milk and oat 
cake, to let him have his chance. 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 13 


Whinnie glanced at his wife and turned to 
Domsie. 

“Marget’s set on seein’ Geordie a minister, 
Dominie.” 

‘‘If he’s worthy o’t, no otherwise. We haena 
the means, though; the farm is highly rented, 
and there’s barely a penny over at the end o’ 
the year. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ But you are willing George should go and 
see what he can do. If he disappoint you, 
then I dinna know a lad o’ pairts when I see 
him, and the Doctor is with we.” 

“Maister Jamieson,” said Marget, with great 
solemnity, ‘‘ma hert’s desire is to see George 
a minister, and if the Almichty spared me to 
hear my only bairn open his mooth in the 
Evangel, I wud hae naething mair to ask — 
but I doot sair it canna be managed.” 

Domsie had got all he asked, and he rose in 
his strength. 

“If George Howe disna get to college, then 
he’s the first scholar I’ve lost in Drumtochty — 
ye ’ill manage his keep and sic like?” 

“Nae fear o’ that,” for Whinnie was warming 
“tho’ I haena a steek [stitch] o’ new claithes 
for four years. But what aboot his fees and 
ither ootgaeins?” 

“There’s ae man in the parish can pay 
George’s fees without missing a penny, and 
I’ll warrant he ’ill dae it.” 

“Are ye meanin’ Drumsheugh?” said Whin- 
nie, “for ye ’ill never get a penny piece oot o’ 
him. Did ye no hear hoo the Frees wiled him 
intae their kirk. Sabbath past a week, when 


14 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

Netherton’s sister’s son frae Edinboro’ wes 
preaching the missionary sermon, expectin’ a 
note, and if he didna change a shillin’ at the 
public-hoose and pit in a penny. Sail, he’s 
a lad Drumsheugh ; a’m thinking ye may save 
yir journey. Dominie.” 

But Marget looked away from her into the 
past, and her eyes had a tender light. ‘‘He 
hed the best hert in the pairish aince. ” 

Domsie found Drumsheugh inclined for 
company, and assisted at an exhaustive and 
caustic treatment of local affairs. When the 
conduct of Piggie Walker, who bought Drums- 
heugh ’s potatoes and went into bankruptcy 
without paying for a single tuber, had been 
characterized in language that left nothing to 
be desired, Drumsheugh began to soften and 
show signs of reciprocity. 

‘‘Hoo’s yir laddies. Dominie?” whom the 
farmers regarded as a risky turnip crop in a 
stiff clay that Domsie had “to fecht awa in.” 
“Are ony o’ them shaping weel?” 

Drumsheugh had given himself away, and 
Domsie laid his first parallel with a glowing 
account of George Howe’s Latinity, which was 
well received. 

“Weel, I’m gled tae hear sic accoonts o’ 
Marget Hoo’s son; there’s naething in Whin- 
nie but what the spune puts in.” 

But at the next move Drumsheugh scented 
danger and stood at guard. “Na, na. Dominie, 
I see what yir aif ter fine ; ye mind hoo ye got 
three notes oot o’ me at Perth market Martin- 
mas a year past for ane o’ yir college laddies. 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 15 

Five punds for four years; my word, yir no 
blate [modest.] And what for sud I educat 
Marget Hoo’s bairn? If ye kent a’ ye wudna 
ask me; it’s no reasonable, Dominie. So 
there’s an end o’t ” 

Domsie was only a pedantic old parish school- 
master, and he knew little beyond his craft, 
but the spirit of the Humanists awoke within 
him, and he smote with all his might, bidding 
good-bye to his English as one flings away the 
scabbard of a sword. 

“Ye think that a’m asking a great thing when 
I plead for a pickle notes to give a puir laddie 
a college education. I tell ye, man, a’m hon- 
ourin’ ye and givin’ ye the fairest chance ye’ll 
ever hae o’ winning wealth. Gin ye store the 
money ye hae scrapit by mony a hard bargain, 
some heir ye never saw 'ill gar it flee in cham- 
bering and wantonness. Gin ye hed the heart 
to spend it on a lad o’ pairts like Geordie Hoo, 
ye wud hae twa rewards nae man could tak fra 
ye. Ane wud be the honest gratitude o’ a lad- 
die whose desire for knowledge ye hed satees- 
fied, and the second wud be this — anither 
scholar in the land; and a’m thinking with 
auld John Knox that ilka scholar is something 
added to the riches of the commonwealth. 
And what ’ill it cost ye? Little mair than the 
price o’ a cattle beast. Man, Drumsheugh, ye 
poverty-stricken cratur, I’ve naethin’ in this 
world but a handfu’ o’ books and a ten-pound 
note for my funeral, and yet, if it wasna I have 
all my brither’s bairns tae keep, I wud pay 
every penny mysel’! But I’ll no see Geordie 


16 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

sent to the plough, tho’ I gang frae door to 
door. Na, na, the grass ’ill no grow on the 
road atween the college and the schule-hoose 
o* Drumtochty till they lay me in the auld 
kirkyard!” 

“Sail, Domsiewas roosed,’’ Dnimsheugh ex- 
plained in the Muirtown inn next market 
“ ‘Misely wratch’ was the ceevilest word on 
his tongue. He wud naither sit nor taste, and 
was half-way doon the yard afore I cud quiet 
him. An’ a’m no sayin’ he hed na reason if 
I’d been meanin’ a’ I said. It would be a 
scan’al to the pairish if a likely lad cudna win 
tae college for the want o’ siller. Na, na, 
neeburs, we hae oor faults, but we’re no sae 
dune mean as that in Drumtochty.’’ 

As it was, when Domsie did depart, he could 
only grip Drumsheugh’s hand, and say Maece- 
nas, and was so intoxicated, but not with strong 
drink, that he explained to Hillocks on the 
way home that Drumsheugh would be a credit 
to Drumtochty, and that his Latin style re- 
minded him of Cicero. He added as an after- 
thought that Whinnie Knowe had promised to 
pay Drumsheugh’s fees for four years at the 
University of Edinburgh. 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 17 


11 . 

HOW WE CARRIED THE NEWS TO WHINNIE 
KNOWE. 

Domsie was an artist, and prepared the way 
for George’s University achievement with much 
cunning. Once every Sabbath in the kirk- 
yard, where he laid down the law beneath an 
old elm tree, and twice between Sabbaths, at 
the post-office and by the wayside, he adjured 
us not to expect beyond measure, and gave us 
reasons. 

“Ye see, he has a natural talent for learning, 
and took to Latin like a duck to water. What 
could be done in Drumtochty was done for 
him, and he’s working night and day, but he’ll 
have a sore fight with the lads from the town 
schools. Na, na, neighbors,’’ said the Domi- 
nie, lapsing into dialect, “we daurna luik for 
a prize. No the first year, at ony rate.” 

“Man, Dominie. A’m clean astonished at 
ye,” Drumsheugh used to break in, who, since 
he had given to George’s support, outran us all 
in his faith, and had no patience with Domsie’s 
devices; “a’ tell ye if Geordie disna get a first 
in every class he’s entered for, the judges ’ill 
be a puir lot,” with a fine confusion of circum- 
stances. 

2 Brier Bush 


18 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

“Losh, Drumsheugh, be quiet, or ye’ll dae 
the laddie an injury,” said Domsie, with genu- 
ine alarm. “We maunna mention prizes, and 
first is fair madness. A certificate of honor, 
now, that will be about it, may be next to the 
prizemen. ” 

Coming home from market he might open 
his heart. “George ’ill be amang the first sax, 
or my name is no Jamieson,” but generally he 
prophesied a moderate success. There were 
times when he affected indifference, and talked 
cattle. We then regarded him with awe, be- 
cause this was more than mortal. 

It was my luck to carry the bulletin to Dom- 
sie, and I learned what he had been enduring. 
It was good manners in Drumtochty to feign 
amazement at the sight of a letter, and to in- 
sist that it must be intended for some other 
person. When it was finally forced upon one, 
you examined the handwriting at various 
angles and speculated about the writer. Some 
felt emboldened, after these precautions, to 
open the letter, but this haste was considered 
indecent. When Posty handed Drumsheugh 
the factor’s letter, with the answer to his offer 
for the farm, he only remarked, “It ’ll be frae 
the factor, ” and harked back to a polled Angus 
“bull he had seen at the show. “Sail,” said 
Posty in the kirkyard with keen relish, “ye’ll 
never flurry Drumsheugh. ’ ’ Ordinary letters 
were read in leisurely retirement, and, in case 
of urgency, answered within the week. 

Domsie clutched the letter, and would have 
torn off the envelope. But he could riot ; his 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 19 


hand was shaking like an aspen. He could 
only look, and I read: 

“Dear Mr. Jamieson: 

“The class honor lists are just out, and you 
will be pleased to know that I have got the 
medal both in the Humanity and the Greek.’’ 

There was something about telling his 
mother, and his gratitude to his school-master, 
but Domsie heard no more. He tried to speak 
and could not, for a rain of tears was on his 
hard old face. Domsie was far more a pagan 
than a saint, but somehow he seemed to me 
that day as Simeon, who had at last seen his 
heart’s desire, and was satisfied. 

When the school had dispersed with a joyful 
shout, and disappeared in the pine woods, he 
said, “Ye’ll come too,” and I knew he was 
going to Whinnie Knowe. He did not speak 
one word upon the way, but twice he stood and 
read the letter, which he held fast in his hand. 
His face was set as he climbed the cart track. 
I saw it set again as we came down that road 
one day, but it was well that we could not 
pierce beyond the present. 

Whinnie left his plough in the furrow, and 
came to meet us, taking two drills at a stride, 
and shouting remarks on the weather yards 
off. 

Domsie only lifted the letter. “Frae 
George. ’ ’ 

“Ay, ay, and what’s he gotten noo?’’ 

Domsie solemnly unfolded the letter, and 
brought down his spectacles. “Edinburgh, 


20 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


April 7th. ’ ’ Then he looked at Whinnie and 
closed his mouth. 

“We’ll tell it first to his mither.” 

“Yer richt, Dominie. She weel deserves it. 
A’m thinking she’s seen us by this time. ’’ So 
we fell into a procession, Dominie leading by 
two yards ; and then a strange thing happened. 
For the first and last time in his life Domsie 
whistled, and the tune was “A hundred pipers 
and a’ and a’,“ and as he whistled he seemed 
to dilate before our eyes, and he struck down 
thistles with his stick — a thistle at every 
stroke. 

“Domsie’s fair carried,’’ whispered Whinnie, 
“it cowes a’.’’ 

Marget met us at the end of the house beside 
the brier bush, where George was to sit on 
summer afternoons before he died, and a flash 
passed between Domsie and the lad’s mother. 
Then she knew that it was well, and fixed her 
eyes on the letter, but Whinnie, his thumbs in 
his armholes, watched the wife. 

Domsie now essayed to read the nev/s, but 
between the shaking of his hands and his voice 
he could not. 

“It’s nae use,’’ he cried, “he’s first in the 
Humanity oot o’ a hundred and seeventy lads, 
first o’ them a’, and he’s first in the Greek 
too ; the likes o’ this is hardly known, and it 
hasna been seen in Drumtochty since there 
was a schule. That’s the word he’s sent, and 
he bade me tell his mother without delay, and 
I am here as fast as my old feet could carry 
me. 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 21 


I glanced round, although I did not myself 
see very clearly. 

Marget was silent for the space of five sec- 
onds ; she was a good woman, and I knew that 
better afterward. She took the Dominie’s 
hand, and said to him, “Under God this was 
your doing, Maister Jamieson, and for your 
reward ye ’ill get naither silver nor gold, but 
ye hae a mither’s gratitude.’’ 

Whinnie gave a hoarse chuckle and said to 
his wife, “It was frae you, Marget, he got 
it a’. ’’ 

When we settled in the parlor Domsie’s 
tongue was loosed, and he lifted up his voice 
and sang the victory of Geordie Hoo. 

“It’s ten years ago at the brak up o’ the 
winter ye brought him down to me, Mrs. Hoo, 
and ye said at the schule-house door, ‘Dinna 
be hard on him, Maister Jamieson, he’s my 
only bairn, and a wee thingie quiet. ’ Div ye 
mind what I said, ‘There’s something ahint 
that face, ’ and my heart warmed to George 
that hour. Two years after the Doctor exam- 
ined the schule, and he looks at George. 
‘That’s a likely lad. Dominie. What think 
ye?’ And he was only eight years auld, and 
no big for his size. ‘Doctor, I dauma proph- 
esy till we turn him into the Latin, but a’ve 
my thoughts. ’ So I had a’ the time, but I 
never boasted; na, na, that’s dangerous. 
Didna I say, ‘Ye hev a promisin’ laddie, Whin- 
nie, ’ ae day in the market?” 

“It’s a fac, ’’ said Whinnie, “it wes the day 
I bocht the white coo. ’ ’ But Domsie swept on. 


22 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

“The first year o’ Latin was enough for me. 
He juist nippet up his verbs. Caesar couldna 
keep him going; he wes into Vergil afore he 
wes eleven, and the Latin prose, man, as sure 
as a’m living, it tasted o’ Cicero frae the be- 
ginning. ” 

Whinnie wagged his head in amazement. 

“It was the verra nicht o’ the Latin prose I 
cam up to speak aboot the college, and ye thocht 
Geordie hed been playing truant.’’ 

Whinnie laughed uproariously, but Domsie 
heeded not. 

“It was awfu’ work the next twa years, but 
the Doctor stood in weel wi’ the Greek. Ye 
mind hoo Geordie tramped ower the muir to 
the manse thro’ the weet an’ the snaw, and 
there wes aye dry stockings for him in the 
kitchen afore he had his Greek in the Doctor’s 
study. ’ ’ 

“And a vrarm drink tae,” put in Margaret, 
“and that’s the window I pit the licht in to 
guide him hame in the dark winter nichts, and 
mony a time when the sleet played swish on 

the glass I wes near wishin’ ” Domsie 

waved his hand. 

“But that’s dune wi’ noo, and he was worth 
^a’ the toil and trouble. First in the Humanity, 
and first in the Greek, sweepit the field, Lord 
preserve us! A’ can hardly believe it. Eh, 
I was feared o’ thae High School lads. They 
had terrible advantages. Maisters frae Eng- 
land, and tutors, and whatna’, but Drumtochty 
carried aff the croon. It’ll be fine reading 
in the papers: 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 23 

“‘Humanity. — First Prize (and Medal), 
George Howe, Drumtochty, Perthshire. 

“ ‘Greek. — First Prize (and Medal), George 
Howe, Drumtochty, Perthshire.’ ” 

“It’ll be michty,” cried Whinnie, now fairly 
on fire. 

“And Philosophy and Mathematics to come. 
Geordie’s no bad at Euclid. I’ll wager he’ll 
be first there too. When he gets his hand in 
there’s naething he’s no fit for wi’ time. My 
ain laddie — and the Doctor’s — we maunna for- 
get him — it’s his classics he hes, every book 
o’ them. The Doctor’ll be lifted when he 
comes back on Saturday. A’m thinkin’ we’ll 
hear o’t on Sabbath. And Drumsheugh, 
he’ll be naither to had nor bind in the kirk- 
yard. As for me, I wadna change places wi’ 
the Duke o’ Athole,’’ and Domsie shook the 
table to its foundation. 

Then he awoke, as from a dream, and the 
shame of boasting that shuts the mouths of 
self-respecting Scots descended upon him. 

“But this is fair nonsense. Ye’ll no mind 
the havers o’ an auld dominie. ’’ 

He fell back on a recent roup, and wouhl 
not again break away, although sorely tempted 
by certain of Whinnie ’s speculations. 

When I saw him last, his coat-tails were wav- 
ing victoriously as he leaped a dyke on his way 
to tell our Drumtochty Maecenas that the 
judges knew their business. 


24 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


III. 

IN marget’s garden. 

The cart track to Whinnie Knowe was com- 
manded by a gable window, and Whinnie 
boasted that Marget had never been taken 
unawares. Tramps finding every door locked, 
and no sign of life anywhere, used to express 
their mind in the “close,” and return by the 
way they came, while ladies from Kildrummie, 
fearful lest they should put Mrs. Howe out, 
were met at the garden gate by Marget in her 
Sabbath dress, and brought into a set tea as 
if they had been invited weeks before. 

Whinnie gloried most in the discomfiture of 
the Tory agent, who had vainly hoped to 
coerce him in the stack-yard without Marget’s 
presence, as her intellectual contempt for the 
Conservative party knew no bounds. 

“Sail she saw him slip aff the road afore the 
last stile, and wheep roond the fit o’ the gair- 
den wa’ like a tod [fox] aifter the chickens. 

“ Tt’s a het day, Maister Anderson,’ says 
Marget frae the gairden, lookin’ doon on him 
as calm as ye like. ‘Yir surely no gaein’ to 
pass oor hoose without a gless o’ milk?’ 

“Wud ye believe it, he wes that upset he left 
withoot say in’ ‘vote,’ and Drumsheugh telt 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 26 


me next market that his langidge aifterwards 
cudna be printed.” 

When George came home for the last time, 
Marget went back and forward all afternoon 
from his bedroom to the window, and hid her- 
self beneath the laburnum to see his face as the 
cart stood before the stile. It told her plain 
what she had feared, and Marget passed 
through her Gethsemane with the gold blos- 
soms falling on her face. When their eyes 
met, and before she helped him down, mother 
and son understood. 

“Ye mind what I told ye, o’ the Greek 
mothers, the day I left. Weel, I wud hae 
liked to have carried my shield, but it wasna 
to be, so I’ve come home on it.” As they 
went slowly up the garden walk, “I’ve got my 
degree, a double first, mathematics and class- 
ics. ” 

“Ye’ve been a gude soldier, George, and 
faithfu’. ” 

“Unto death, a’m dootin’, mother.” 

“Na,” said Marget, “unto life.” 

Drumtochty was not a heartening place in 
sickness, and Marget, who did not think our 
thoughts, endured much consolation at her 
neighbour’s hands. It is said that in cities 
visitors congratulate a patient on his good 
looks, and deluge his family with instances of 
recovery. This would have seemed to us shal- 
low and unfeeling, besides being a ‘temptin’ o’ 
Providence,” which might not have intended 
to go to extremities, but on a challenge of this 
kind had no alternative. Sickness was regarded 


26 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

as a distinction tempered with judgment, and 
favoured people found it difficult to be hum- 
ble. I always thought more of Peter Macin- 
tosh, when the mysterious “tribble” that 
needed the Perth doctor made no difference 
in his manner, and he passed his snuff box 
across the seat before the long prayer as usual, 
but in this indifference to privileges Peter 
was exceptional. 

You could never meet Kirsty Stewart on 
equal terms, although she was quite affable to 
anyone who knew his place. 

“Ay,” she said, on my respectful allusion 
to her experience, “a’ve seen mair than most. 
It doesna become me to boast, but tho’ I say 
it as sudna, I hae buried a’ my ain fouk. ” 

Kirsty had a “way” in sick visiting, con- 
sisting in a certain cadence of the voice and 
arrangement of the face, which was felt to be 
soothing and complimentary. 

“Yir aboot again, a’m glad to see,” to me 
after my accident, “but yir no dune wi’ that 
leg; na, na, Jeems — that was ma second son — 
scrapit his shin aince, tho’ no so bad as ye’ve 
dune, a’m hearing [for I had denied Kirsty 
the courtesy of an inspection]. It’s sax year 
syne noo, and he got up and wes trai veilin’ 
fell hearty like yersel’. But he be to good 
dwam [sicken] in the end of the year, and 
soughed awa’ in the spring. Ay, ay, when 
tribble comes ye never ken hoo it’ll end. 
A’ thocht I wud come up and speir for ye. 
.A body needs comfort gin he’s sober [ill].” 

When I found George wrapped in his plaid 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 27 


beside the brier bush, whose roses were no 
whiter than his cheeks, Kirsty was already 
installed as comforter in the parlour, and her 
drone came through the open window. 

“Ay, ay. Marge t, sae it’s come to this. Weel, 
we daurna complain, ye ken. Be thankfu’ ye 
haena lost your man and five sons, besides twa 
sisters and a brither, no to mention cousins. 
That wud be somethin to speak aboot, and 
Losh keep’s, there’s nae saying but he micht 
hang on a whilie. Ay, ay, it’s a sair blow 
aifter a’ that wes in the papers. I wes feared 
when I heard o’ the papers; *Lat weel alane,’ 
says I to the Dominie; ‘ye ’ill bring a judg- 
ment on the laddie wi’ yir blawing. ’ But ye 
micht as weel hae spoken to the hills. Dom- 
sie’s a thrann body at the best, and he was 
clean infatuat’ wi’ George. Ay, ay, it’s an 
awfu’ lesson, Marget, no to mak’ idols o’ our 
bairns; for that’s naethin’ else than provokin’ 
the Almichty. ’ ’ 

It was at this point that Marget gave way 
and scandalized Drumtochty, which held that 
obtrusive prosperity was an irresistible provo- 
cation to the higher powers, and that a skilful 
deprecation of our children was a policy of 
safety. 

“Did ye say the Almichty? I’m thinkin’ 
that’s ower grand a name for your God, Kirsty. 
What wud ye think o’ a faither that brocht 
hame some bonnie thing frae the fair for ane 
o’ his bairns, and when the puir bairn wes 
pleased wi’ it, tore it oot o’ his hand and flung 
it into the fire? Eh, woman, he wud be a 


28 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


meeserable, cankered, jealous body. Kirsty, 
wumman, when the Almichty sees a mither 
bound up in her laddie, I tell ye He is sair 
pleased in His heaven, for mind ye hoo He 
loved His ain Son. Besides, a’m judgin’ that 
nane o’ us can love anither withoot lovin’ Him, 
or hurt anither withoot hurtin’ Him. 

“Oh, I ken weel that George is gaein’ to 
leave us; but it’s no because the Almichty is 
jealous o’ him or me, no likely. It cam’ to me 
last nicht that He needs my laddie for some 
grand wark in the ither world, and that’s hoo 
George has his bukes brocht oot tae the garden 
and studies a’ the day. He wants to be ready 
for his kingdom, just as he trachled in the bit 
schule o’ Drumtochty for Edinboro’. I hoped 
he would hae been a minister o’ Christ’s Gospel 
here, but he ’ill be judge over many cities 
yonder. A’m no denyin’, Kirsty, that it’s a 
trial, but I hae licht on it, and naethin’ but 
gude thochts o’ the Almichty.’’ 

Drumtochty understood that Kirsty had 
dealty faithfully with Marget for pride and 
presumption, but all we heard was, “Losh keep 
us a’. ’’ 

When Marget came out and sat down beside 
her son, her face was shining. Then she saw 
the open window. 

“I didna ken.’’ 

“Never mind, mither, there’s nae secrets 
atween us, and it gar’d my heart leap to hear 
ye speak up like yon for God, and to know yir 
content. Div ye mind the nicht I called for 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 29 


ye, mother, and ye gave me the Gospel aboot 
God?” 

Marget slipped her hand into George’s, and 
he let his head rest on her shoulder. The 
likeness flashed upon me in that moment, the 
earnest deep-set gray eyes, the clean-cut firm 
jaw, and the tender mobile lips, that blend of 
apparent austerity and underlying romance 
that make the pathos of a Scottish face. 

‘‘There had been a Revival man here,” 
George explained to me, ‘‘and he was preach- 
ing on hell. As it grew dark a candle was 
lighted, and I can still see his face as in a pic- 
ture, a hard-visaged man. He looked down at 
us laddies in the front, and asked us if we knew 
what hell was like. By this time we were that 
terrified none of us could speak, but I whis- 
pered ‘No. ’ 

‘‘Then he rolled up a piece of paper and held 
it in the flame, and we saw it burn and glow 
and shrivel up and fall in black dust. 

‘‘ ‘Think,’ said he, and he leaned over the 
desk, and spoke in a gruesome whisper which 
made the cold run down our backs, ‘that yon 
paper was your finger, one finger only of your 
hand, and it burned like that for ever and 
ever, and think of your hand and your arm and 
your whole body all on fire, never to go out. ’ 
We shuddered that you might have heard the 
form creak. ‘That is hell, and that is where 
ony laddie will go who does not repent and 
believe. ’ 

“It was like Dante’s Inferno, and I dared 
not take my eyes off his face. He blew out 


30 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


the candle, and we crept to the door trembling, 
not able to say one word. 

“That night I could not sleep, for I thought 
I might be in the fire before morning. It was 
harvest time, and the moon was filling the room 
with cold, clear light. From my bed I could 
see the stooks standing in rows upon the field, 
and it seemed like the judgment day. 

“I was only a wee laddie, and I did what we 
all do in trouble, I cried for my mother. 

“Ye hae na forgotten, mither, the fricht that 
was on me that nicht. “ 

“Never,” said Marget, “and never can; it’s 
hard wark for me to keep frae hating that 
man, dead or alive. Geordie gripped me wi’ 
baith his wee airms round my neck, and he 
cries over and over and over again, ‘Is yon 
God?’ ” 

“Ay, and ye kissed me, mither, and ye said 
(it’s like yesterday), ‘Yir safe with me,’ and ye 
telt me that God micht punish me to make me 
better if I was bad, but that he wud never 
torture ony puir soul, for that cud dae nae 
guid, and was the Devil’s wark. Ye asked 
me: 

“ ‘Am I a guid mother tae ye?’ and when I 
could dae naethin’ but hold, ye said, ‘Be sure 
God maun be a hantle kinder. ’ 

“The truth came to me as with a flicker, and 
I cuddled down into my bed, and fell asleep in 
His love as in my mother’s arms. 

“Mither,” and George lifted up his head, 
“that was my conversion, and, mither dear, I 
hae longed a’ thro’ thae college studies for the 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 31 


day when ma mooth wud be opened wi’ this 
evangel. ’ ’ 

Marget’s was an old-fashioned garden, with 
pinks and daisies and forget-me-nots, with 
sweet-scented wall-flower and thyme and moss 
roses, where nature had her way, and gracious 
thoughts could visit one without any jarring 
note. As George's voice softened to the close, 
I caught her saying, “His servants shall see 
His face," and the peace of Paradise fell upon 
us in the shadow of death. 

The night before the end George was carried 
out to his corner, and Domsie, whose heart was 
nigh unto the breaking, sat with him the after- 
noon. They used to fight the College battle 
over again, with their favourite classics beside 
them, but this time none of them spoke of 
books. Marget was moving about the gar- 
den, and she told me that George looked at 
Domsie wistfully, as if he had something to say 
and knew not how to do it. 

After a while he took a book from below his 
pillow, and began, like one thinking over his 
words : 

“Maister Jamieson, yehae been aguid freend 
tae me, the best I ever hed aifter my mither 
and father. Wull ye tak’ this buik for a keep- 
sake o’ yir grateful scholar? I’s a Latin ‘Imi- 
tation,’ Dominie, and it’s bonnie printin’. Ye 
mind hoo ye gave me yir ain Vergil, and said 
he was a kind o’ Pagan sanct. Noo, here is 
my sanct, and div ye ken I’ve often thocht 
Vergil saw His day afar off, and was glad. 

Wull ye read it. Dominie, for my sake, and 


32 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


maybe ye ’ill come to see — ” and George could 
not find words for more. 

But Domsie understood. “Ma laddie, ma 
laddie, that I luve better than onythin’ on 
earth, I’ll read it till I die, and, George, I’ll 
tell ye what livin’ man doesna ken. When I 
was your verra age I had a cruel trial, and ma 
heart was turned frae faith. The classics hae 
been my Bible, though I said naethin’ to ony 
man against Christ. He aye seemed beyond 
man, and noo the veesion o’ Him has come to 
me in this gairden. Laddie, ye hae dune far 
mair for me than I ever did for you. Wull ye 
mak’ a prayer for yir auld dominie afore we. 
pairt?” 

There was a thrush singing in the birches 
and a sound of bees in the air, when George 
prayed in a low, soft voice, with a little break 
in it: 

“Lord Jesus, remember my dear maister, 
for he’s been a kind freend to me and mony a 
puir laddie in Drumtochty. Bind up his sair 
heart and give him licht at eventide, and may 
the maister and his scholars meet some mornin’ 
where the schule never skails, in the kingdom 
o’ oor Father. ’’ 

Twice Domsie said Amen, and it seemed as 
the voice of another man, and then he kissed 
George upon the forehead; but what they said 
Marget did not wish to hear. 

When he passed out at the garden gate, the 
westering sun was shining golden, and the face 
of Domsie was like unto that of a little child. 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 33 


IV. 

A scholar’s funeral. 

Drumtochty never acquitted itself with credit 
at a marriage, having no natural aptitude for 
gaiety, and being haunted with anxiety lest 
any “hicht” should end in a “howe,” but the 
parish had a genius for funerals. It was long 
mentioned with a just sense of merit that an 
English undertaker, chancing on a “beerial” 
with us, had no limits to his admiration. He 
had been disheartened to despair all his life by 
the ghastly efforts of chirpy little Southerners 
to look solemn on occasions, but his dreams 
were satisfied at the sight of men like Drums- 
heugh and Hillocks in their Sabbath blacks. 
Nature lent an initial advantage in face, but it 
was an instinct in the blood that brought our 
manner to perfection, and nothing could be 
more awful than a group of those austere 
figures, each man gazing into vacancy without 
a trace of expression, and refusing to recognize 
his nearest neighbour by word or look. Drum- 
tochty gave itself to a “beerial” with chastened 
satisfaction, partly because it lay near to the 
sorrow of things, and partly because there was 
nothing of speculation in it. “Ye can hae little 
rael pleesure in a merrige,” explained our 

3 Brier Bash 


34 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

gravedigger, in whom the serious side had 
been perhaps abnormally developed, “for ye 
never ken hoo it will end; but there’s nae risk 
about a ‘beerial. ’ ’’ 

It came with a shock upon townsmen that the 
ceremony began with a “service o’ speerits, ’ ’ 
and that an attempt of the Free Kirk minister 
to replace this by the reading of Scripture was 
resisted as an “innovation.” Yet everyone 
admitted that the seriousness of Drumtochty 
pervaded and sanctified this function. A tray 
of glasses was placed on a table with great 
solemnity by the “wricht,” who made no sign 
and invited none. You might have supposed 
that the circumstance had escaped the notice 
of the company, so abstracted and unconscious 
was their manner, had it not been that two 
graven images a minute later are standing at 
the table. 

“Ye ’ill taste, Tammas,” with settled mel- 
ancholy. 

“Na, na; I’ve nae incleenation the day; it’s 
an awfu’ dispensation, this, Jeems. She wud 
be barely saxty. ’ ’ 

“Ay, ay, but we maun keep up the body sae 
lang as we’re here, Tammas.” 

“Weel, puttin’ it that way, a’m not sayin’ 
but yir richt, ’ ’ yielding unwillingly to the force 
of circumstance. 

“We’re here the day and there the mom, 
Tammas. She wes a fine wumman — Mistress 
Stirton — a weel-livin’ wumman: this ’ill be a 
blend, a’m thinkin’.” 

“She slippit aff sudden in the end; a’m 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 35 


judgin’ it’s frae the Muirtown grocer; but a 
body canna discreeminate on a day like this.” 

Before the glasses are empty all idea of drink- 
ing is dissipated, and one has a vague impres- 
sion that he is at church. 

It was George Howe’s funeral that broke the 
custom and closed the “service.” When I 
came into the garden where the neighbors were 
gathered, the “wricht” was removing his tray, 
and not a glass had been touched. Then I 
knew that Drumtochty had a sense of the fit- 
ness of things, and was stirred to its depths. 

“Ye saw the wricht carry in his tray,” said 
Drumsheugh, as we went home from the kirk- 
yard. “Weel, yon’s the last sicht o’t ye’illget, 
or a’m no Drumsheugh. I’ve nae objection 
masel’ to a neebur tastin’ at a funeral, a’ the 
mair if he’s come frae the upper end o’ the 
pairish, and ye ken I dinna hold wi’ thae tee- 
total fouk. A’m ower auld in the horn to 
change noo. But there’s times and seasons, 
as the Gude Buik says, and it wud hae been an 
awfu’ like business tae luik at a gless in Mar- 
get’s gairden, and puir Domsie standing in 
ahent the brier bush as if he cud never lift his 
heid again. Ye may get shairper fouk in the 
uptak’, but ye ’ill no get a pairish with better 
feelin’s. It ’ill be a kind o’ sateesfaction tae 
Marget when she hears o’t. She was aye 
against tastin’, and a’m judgin’ her tribble has 
ended it at beerials. ’ ’ 

“Man, it was hard on some o’ yon lads the 
day, but there wesna ane o’ them made a 
mudge. I keepit my eye on Posty, but he 


36 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

never lookit the way it wes. He’s a drouthy 
body, but he hes his feelin’s, hes Posty. ” 

Before the Doctor began the prayer, Whin- 
nie took me up to the room. 

“There’s twa o’ Geordie’s College freends 
with Marget, grand scholars a’m telt, and 
there’s anither I canna weel mak’ oot. He’s 
terrible cast doon, and Marget speaks as if she 
kent him. ’’ 

It was a low-roofed room, with a box bed and 
some pieces of humble furniture, fit only for a 
laboring man. But the choice treasures of 
Greece and Rome lay on the table, and on a 
shelf beside the bed College prizes and medals, 
while everywhere were the roses he loved. 
His peasant mother stood beside the body of 
her scholar son, whose hopes and thoughts she 
had shared, and through the window came the 
bleating of distant sheep. I was the idyl of 
Scottish University life. 

George’s friends were characteristic men, 
each of his own type, and could only have met 
in the commonwealth of letters. One was of 
an ancient Scottish house which had fought 
for Mary against the Lords of the Congrega- 
tion, followed Prince Charlie to Culloden, and 
were High Church and Tory to the last drop of 
their blood. Ludovic Gordon left Harrow with 
the reputation of a classic, and had expected 
to be first at Edinboro’. It was Gordon, in 
fact, that Domsie feared in the great war, but 
he proved second to Marget’ s son, and being 
' of the breed of Prince Jonathan, which is the 
same the world over, he came to love our David 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 37 


as his own soul. The other, a dark little man, 
with a quick, fiery eye, was a western Celt, 
who had worried his way from a fishing croft 
in Barra to be an easy first in philosophy at 
Edinboro’, and George and Ronald Maclean 
were as brothers, because there is nothing so 
different as Scottish and Highland blood. 

“Maister Gordon,” said Marget, “this is 
George’s Homer, and he bade me tell you that 
he coonted yir freendship ain o’ the gifts o’ 
God.” 

For a brief space Gordon was silent, and, 
when he spoke, his voice sounded strange in 
that room. 

“Your son was the finest scholar of my tim.e, 
and a very perfect gentleman. He was also 
my true friend, and I pray God to console his 
mother. ’ ’ And Ludovic Gordon bowed low 
over Marget’s worn hand as if she had been a 
queen. 

Marget lifted Plato, and it seemed to me that 
day as if the dignity of our Lady of Sorrows 
had fallen upon her. 

“This is the buik George chose for you, 
Maister Maclean, for he aye said to me ye hed 
been a prophet and shown him mony deep 
things, ” 

The tears sprang to the Celt’s eyes. 

“It wass like him to make all other men bet- 
ter than himself,” with the soft, sad Highland 
accent; “and a proud woman you are to hef 
been his mother. ” 

The third man waited at the window till 
the scholars left, and then I saw he was none 


38 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


of that kind, but one who had been a slave of 
sin and now was free. 

“ Andra Chaumers, George wished ye tae hev 
his Bible, and he expecks ye tae keep the 
tryst. ’ ’ 

“God helping me, I will,” said Chalmers, 
hoarsely; and from the garden ascended a 
voice, “O God, who art a very present help in 
trouble. ’ ’ 

The Doctor’s funeral prayer was one of the 
glories of the parish, compelling even the Free 
Kirk to reluctant admiration, although they 
hinted that its excellence was rather of the 
letter than the spirit, and regarded its indis- 
criminate charity with suspicion. It opened 
with a series of extracts from the Psalms, re- 
lieved by two excursions into the minor proph- 
ets, and led up to a sonorous recitation of 
the problem of immortality from Job, with its 
triumphant solution in the peroration of the 
fifteenth chapter of ist Corinthians. Drum- 
tochty men held their breath till the Doctor 
reached the crest of the hill (Hillocks disgraced 
himself once by dropping his staff at the very 
moment when the Doctor was passing from 
Job to Paul), and then we relaxed while the 
Doctor descended to local detail. It was un- 
derstood that it took twenty years to bring the 
body of this prayer to perfection, and any 
change would have been detected and re- 
sented. 

The Doctor made a good start, and had al- 
ready sighted Job, when he was carried out of 
his course by a sudden current, and began to 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 39 


speak to God about Marget and her son, after 
a very simple fashion that brought a lump to 
the throat, till at last, as I imagine, the sight 
of the laddie working at his Greek in the study 
of a winter night came up before him, and the 
remnants of the great prayer melted like an 
iceberg in the Gulf Stream. 

“Lord, hae peety upon us, for we a’ luved 
him, and we were a’ prood o’ him.’’ 

After the Doctor said “Amen’’ with majesty, 
one used to look at his neighbor, and the other 
would shut his eyes and shake his head, mean- 
ing “There’s no use asking me, for it simply 
can’t be better done by living man.’’ This 
time no one remembered his neighbor, because 
every eye was fixed on the Doctor. Drum- 
tochty was identifying its new minister. 

“It may be that I hef judged him hardly,” 
said Lachlan Campbell, one of the Free Kirk 
Highlanders, and our St. Dominic. “I shall 
never again deny that the root of the matter is 
in the man, although much choked with the 
tares of worldliness and Arminianism. ” 

“He is a goot man, Lachlan,” replied Donald 
Menzies, another Celt, and he was our St. 
Francis, “for every one that loveth is born of 
God.” 

There was no hearse in Drumtochty, and we 
carried our dead by relays of four, who waded 
every stream unless more than knee deep, the 
rest following in straggling, picturesque pro- 
cession over the moor an.d across the stepping 
stones. Before we started, Marget came out 


40 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


and arranged George’s white silken hood upon 
the coffin with roses in its folds. 

She swept us into one brief flush of grati- 
tude, from Domsie to Posty. 

“Neeburs, ye were a’ his freends, and he 
wanted ye tae ken hoo yir trust wes mickle 
help tae him in his battle. ’ ’ 

There was a stir within us, and it came to 
birth in Drumsheugh of all men. 

“Marget Hoo, this is no the day for mony 
words, but there’s juist ae heart in Drumtochty, 
and it’s sair. ” 

No one spoke to Domsie as we went down 
the cart track, with the ripe corn standing on 
either side, but he beckoned Chalmers to walk 
with him. 

“Ye hae heard him speak o’ me, then, 
Maister Jamieson?’’ 

“Ay, oftentimes, and he said once that ye 
were hard driven, but that ye had trampled 
Satan under yir feet. ’ ’ 

“He didna tell ye all, for if it hadna been 
for George Howe I wudna been worth callin’ 
a man this day. One night when he was 
workin’ hard for his honors examination, and 
his disease was heavy upon him, puir fellow, he 
sought me oot where I was, and wouldna leave 
till I cam’ wi’ him. 

“ ‘Go home,' I said, ‘Howe; it’s death for 
ye to be oot in this sleet and cold. Why not 
leave me to lie in the bed I hae made?** ” 

“He took me by the arm into a p^issage. I 
see the gaslicht on his white face, and the shin- 
ing o’ his eyes. 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 41 


“ ‘Because I have a mother ’ 

“Dominie, he pulled me oot o’ hell.’’ 

“Me tae, Andra, but no your hell. Ye mind 
the Roman Triumph, when a general cam’ 
hame wi’ his spoils. Laddie, we’re the captives 
that go with his chariot up the Capitol. ’ ’ 

Donald Menzies was a man of moods, and 
the Doctor’s prayer had loosed his imagination 
so that he saw visions. 

“Look,” said he, as we stood on a ridge, “I 
hef seen it before in the book of Joshua. ” 
Below the bearers had crossed a burn on foot, 
and were ascending the slope where an open 
space of deep green was fringed with purple 
heather. 

“Thearkhass gone over Jordan, and George 
will have come into the Land of Promise. ” 
The September sunshine glinted on the white 
silk George won with his blood, and fell like a 
benediction on the two figures that climbed 
the hard ascent close after the man they loved. 

Strangers do not touch our dead in Drum- 
tochty, but the eight of nearest blood lower the 
body into the grave. The order of precedence 
is keenly calculated, and the loss of a merited 
cord can never be forgiven. Marget had ar- 
ranged everything with Whinnie, and all saw 
the fitness. His father took the head, and the 
feet [next in honor] he gave to Domsie. 

“Ye maun dae it. Marget said ye were o’ 
his ain bluid. ’ ’ 

On the right side the cords were handed to 
the Doctor, Gordon, and myself; and on the 
left to Drumsheugh, Maclean, and Chalmers. 


42 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


Domsie lifted the hood for Marget, but the 
roses he gently placed on George’s name. 
Then with bent, uncovered heads, and in un- 
broken silence, we buried all that remained of 
our scholar. 

Vv^e always waited till the grave was filled 
and the turf laid down, a trying quarter of an 
hour. Ah, me! the thud of the spade on your 
mother’s grave ! None gave any sign of what 
he felt save Drumsheugh, whose sordid slough 
had slipped off from a tender heart, and Chal- 
mers, who went behind a tombstone and sob- 
bed aloud. Not even Posty asked the reason 
so much as by a look, and Drumtochty, as it 
passed, made as though it did not see. But I 
marked that the Dominie took Chalmers home 
and walked all the way with him to Kildrum- 
mie station next morning. His friends erected 
a granite cross over George’s grave, and it was 
left to Domsie to choose the inscription. There 
was a day when it would have been “Whom 
the gods love die young. ’’ Since then Domsie 
had seen the kingdom of God, and this is 
graven where the roses bloomed fresh every 
summer for twenty years till Marget was laid 
with her son : 

George Howe, M. A., 

Died September 2 2d, 1869, 

Aged 21. 

“They shall bring the glory and honor of the nations 
into it.” 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 43 


It was a late November day when I went to 
see George’s memorial, and the immortal hope’ 
was burning low in my heart ; but as I stood 
before that cross, the sun struggled from be- 
hind a black watery bank of cloud, and picked 
out every letter of the Apocalypse in gold. 


A HIGHLAND MYSTIC. 


I. 

WHAT EYE HATH NOT SEEN. 

Strange ministers who came to assist at the 
Free Kirk Sacrament were much impressed 
with the elders, and never forgot the transfigu- 
ration of Donald Menzies, which used to begin 
about the middle of the “action” sermon, and 
was completed at the singing of the last Psalm. 
Once there was no glory, because the minister, 
being still young, expounded a new theory of 
the atonement of German manufacture, and 
Donald’s face was piteous to behold. It 
haunted the minister for months, and brought 
to confusion a promising course of sermons on 
the contribution of Hegel to Christian thought. 
Donald never laid the blame of such calamities 
on the preacher, but accepted them as a just 
judgment on his blindness of heart. 

“Wehef had the open vision,” Donald ex- 
plained to his friend ’Lachlan Campbell, who 
distributed the responsibility in another 
fashion, “and we would not see — so the veil 
hass fallen.” 

Donald sat before the pulpit and filled the 
hearts of nervous probationers with dismay, 
44 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 45 

not because his face was critical, but because 
it seemed non-conducting, upon which their 
best passages would break like spray against a 
rock. It was by nature the dullest you ever 
saw, with hair descending low upon the fore- 
head, and preposterous whiskers dominating 
everything that remained, except a heavy 
mouth and brown, lack-lustre eyes. For a 
while Donald crouched in the corner of the 
pew, his head sunk on his breast, a very pic- 
ture of utter hopelessness. But as the Evan- 
gel began to play round his heart, he would fix 
the preacher with rapid, wistful glances, as of 
one who had awaked, but hardly dared believe 
such things could be true. Suddenly a sigh 
pervaded six pews, a kind of gentle breath of 
penitence, faith, love, and hope mingled to- 
gether like the incense of the sanctuary, and 
Donald lifted up his head. His eyes are now 
aflame, and those sullen lips are refining into 
curves of tenderness. From the manse pew I 
watched keenly, for at any moment a wonder- 
ful sight may be seen. A radiant smile will 
pass from his lips to his eyes and spread over 
his face, as when the sun shines on a fallow 
field and the rough furrows melt into warmth 
and beauty. Donald’s gaze is now fixed on a 
window above the preacher’s head, for on 
these great days that window is to him as the 
gate of heaven. All I could see would be a bit 
of blue, and the fretted sunlight through the 
swaying branches of an old plane tree. But 
Donald has seen his Lord hanging upon the 
Cross for him, and the New Jerusalem descend- 


46 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

ing like a bride adorned for her husband, more 
plainly than if Perugino’s great Crucifixion, 
with the kneeling saints, and Angelico’s Outer 
Court of Heaven, with the dancing angels, had 
been hung in our little Free Kirk. When he 
went down the aisle with the fiagon in the Sac- 
rament, he walked as one in a dream, and wist 
not that his face shone. 

There was an interval after the Sacrament, 
when the stranger was sent to his room with 
light refreshments, to prepare himself for the 
evening, and the elders dined with the minis- 
ter. Before the introduction of the Highland- 
ers conversation had an easy play within recog- 
nized limits, and was always opened by 
Burnbrae, who had come out in ’43, and was 
understood to have read the Confession of Faith. 

“Ye gave us agrawnddiscoorse thismornin’, 
sir, baith instructive and edify in’ ; we were 
juist sayin’, cornin’ up the gairden, that ye 
were never heard to mair advantage. ’’ 

The minister was much relieved, because he 
had not been hopeful during the week, and 
was still dissatisfied, as he explained at length, 
with the passage on the Colossian heresy. 

When these doubts had been cleared up Burn- 
brae did his best by the minister upstairs, who 
had submitted himself to the severe test of 
table addresses. 

“Yon wer verra suitable words at the second 
table; he’s a speeritually minded man, Maister 
Cosh, and has the richt sough.” 

Or at the worst, then Burnbrae ’s courage 
had failed: 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 47 


“Maister McKittrick had a fine text afore the 
table. I aye like tae see a man gang tae the 
Song o’ Solomon on the Sacrament Sabbath. 
A’ mind Dr. Guthrie on that verra subject 
twenty years syne. ’ ’ 

Having paid its religious dues, conversation 
was now allowed some freedom, and it was 
wonderful how many things could be touched 
on, always from a sacramental standpoint. 

“We’ve been awfu’ favored wi’ weather the 
day, and ought to be thankfu’. Gin it hads on 
like this I wudna say but th’ill be a gude 
hairst. That’s a fine pucklie aits ye hae in the 
laigh park, Burnbrae. ’’ 

“A’ve seen waur; they’re fillin’ no that bad. 
I wes juist thinkin’ as I cam to the Kirk that 
there wes aits in that field the Sacrament after 
the Disruption.” 

“Did ye notice that Rachel Skene sat in her 
seat through the tables? Says I, ‘Are ye no 
gain forrit, Mistress Skene, or hae ye lost yir 
token?’ ‘Na, na,’ says she, ‘ma token’s safe in 
ma handkerchief; but I cudna get to Kirk 
yesterday, and I never went forrit withoot ma 
Saiturday yet, and I’m no to begin noo. ’ ” 

‘ ‘ vShe was aye a richt-thinkin’ woman, Rachel, 
there’s nae mistake o’ that; a’ wonder hoo her 
son is gettin’ on wi’ that fairm he’s takin’; a’ 
doot it’s rack-rented. ” 

It was an honest, satisfying conversation, and 
reminded one of the parish of Drumtochty, 
being both quoad sacra and quoad civilia. 

When the Highlanders came in, Burnbrae 
was deposed after one encounter, and the min- 


48 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


ister was reduced to a state of timid suggestion. 
There were days when they would not speak 
one word, and were understood to be lost in 
meditation; on others they broke in on any 
conversation that was going from levels be- 
yond the imagination of Drumtochty. Had 
this happened in the Auld Manse, Drumsheugh 
would have taken for granted that Donald was 
“feeling sober” (ill), and recommended the 
bottle which cured him of “a hoast” (cough) 
in the fifties. But the Free Kirk had been 
taught that the Highlanders were unapproach- 
able in spiritual attainments, and even Burn- 
brae took his discipline meekly. 

“It wes a mercy the mune changed last 
week, Maister Menzies, or a’m thinkin’ it had 
been a weet sacrament.” 

Donald came out of a maze, where he had 
been wandering in great peace. 

“I wass not hearing that the moon had any- 
thing to do in the matter. Oh, no, but he wass 
bound hand and foot by a mighty man.” 

“Wha was bund? A’m no juist followin’ ye, 
Maister Menzies.” 

“The Prince of the power of the air. Oh, 
yes, and he shalt not be loosed till the occasion 
be over. I hef had a sign.” After which, 
conversation on the weather languished. 

Perhaps the minister fared worse in an 
attempt to extract a certificate of efficiency 
from Lachlan Campbell in favor of a rhetori- 
cal young preacher. 

“A fery nice speaker, and well pleased with 
himself. But I would be thinking, when he 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 49 

wass giving his images. Oh, yes, I would be 
thinking. There was a laddie feeshing in the 
burn before my house, and a fery pretty laddie 
he wass. He had a rod and a string, and he 
threw his line peautiful. It wass a great peety 
he had no hook, for it iss a want, and you do 
not catch many fish without a hook. But I 
shall be glad that you are pleased, sir, and all 
the elders.” 

These were only passing incidents, and left 
no trace, but the rebuke Donald gave to Burn- 
brae will be told while an elder lives. One of 
the last of the old mystical school, which trace 
their descent from Samuel Rutherford, had 
described the great mystery of our Faith with 
such insight and pathos that Donald had stood 
by the table 'weeping gently, and found him- 
self afterward in the manse, he knew’ not how. 

The silence w’^as more than could be borne, 
and his former responsibility fell on Burnbrae. 

“It wes wonnerful, and I canna mind hear- 
ing the like o’ yon at the tables; but I w^as 
sorry to see the Doctor sae failed. He wes 
bent twa fad ; a’ doot it’s a titch o’ rheumatism, 
or maybe lumbago. ’ ’ 

Johannine men are subject to sudden flashes 
of anger and Donald blazed. 

“Bent down with rheumatism, iss that what 
you say? Oh, yes, it will be rheumatism. 
Hass the sight of your eyes left you, and hef 
you no discernment? Did ye not see that he 
was bowed to the very table with the power of 
the Word? for it was a fire in his bones, and 
he was baptized with the Holy Ghost!” 

4 Brier Bush 


50 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

When the elders gathered in the vestry, 
the minister asked what time the preacher 
might have for his evening sermon, and Donald 
again burst forth: 

“I am told that in towns the Gospel goes by 
minutes, like the trains at the station; bu 
there is no time-table here, for we shall wait till 
the sun goes down to hear all things God will 
be sending by His servant.” 

Good memories differ about the text that 
Sacrament evening, and the length of the ser- 
mon, but all hold as a treasure forever what 
happened when the book was closed. The 
people were hushed into a quiet that might be 
felt, and the old man, swayed by the spirit of 
the Prophets, began to repeat the blessings and 
curses in the Bible between Genesis and Reve- 
lation, and after each pair he cried with heart- 
piercing voice, “Choose this day which ye will 
take,” till Donald could contain himself no 
longer. 

“Here issthe man who hass deserved all the 
curses, and here iss the man who chooses all 
the blessings. ’ ’ 

Our fathers had no turn for sensation, but 
they had an unerring sense of a spiritual situa- 
tion. The preacher paused for five seconds, 
while no man could breathe, and then lifting 
up his hand to Heaven he said, with an inde- 
scribable authority and tenderness, “The 
Lord fulfil the desire of your heart both in this 
world and that which is to come. ” 

Then the congregation sang, after the ancient 
custom of our parts. 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 51 


“Now blessed be the Lord our God, 

The God of Israel,” 

and Donald’s face was one glory, because he 
saw in the soft evening light of the upper win- 
dow the angels of God ascending and descend- 
ing upon the Son of man. 

It was after this that the Free Kirk minister 
occupied six months in proving that Moses did 
not write Deuteronomy, and Lachlan was try- 
ing for the same period to have the minister 
removed from Drumtochty. Donald, deprived 
by one stroke of both his friends, fell back on 
me, and told me many things I loved to hear, 
although they were beyond my comprehen- 
sion. 

“It wass not always so with me as it iss this 
day, for I once had no ear for God’s voice, and 
my eyes were holden that I saw not the spirit- 
ual world. But sore sickness came upon me, 
and I wass nigh unto death, and my soul awoke 
within me and began to cry like a child for its 
mother. All my days I had lived on Loch 
Tay, and now I thought of the other country 
into whicn I would hef to be going, where I 
had no nest, and my soul would be driven to 
and fro in the darkness as a bird on the moor 
of Rannoch. 

“Janet sent for the minister, and he wass 
fery kind, and he spoke about my sickness and 
my farm, and I said nothing. For I wass hop- 
ing he would tell me what I wass to do for my 
soul. But he began upon the sheep market at 
Amulree, and I knew he wass also in the dark. 


52 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

After he left I turned my face to the wall and 
wept. 

“Next morning wass the Sabbath, and I said 
to J anet : 

“ ‘Wrap me in my plaid, and put me in a 
cart, and take me to Aberfeldy.’ ‘And what 
will ye be doing at Aberfeldy? and you will die 
on the road.’ ‘There iss, ’ said I, ‘a man there 
who knows the way of the soul, and it iss bet- 
ter to die with my face to the light. ’ 

“They set me in a corner of the church where 
I wass thinking, no man could see me, and I 
cried in my heart without ceasing, ‘Lord, send 
me — send me a word from Thy mouth. ’ 

“When the minister came into the pulpit he 
gave me a strange look, and this wass his text, 
‘Loose him and let him go.’ 

“As he preached I knew I wass Lazarus, 
with the darkness of the grave around me, and 
my soul straitly bound. I could do nothing, 
but I wass longing with all my strength. 
“Then the minister stopped, and he said: 

“ ‘There is a man in this church, and he will 
know himself who it iss. When I came in this 
morning I saw a shadow on his face, and I knew 
not whether it was the wing of the Angel of 
Life or the Angel of Death passing over him, 
but the Lord has made it plain to me, and I 
see the silver feathers of the Angel of the Cov- 
enant, and this shall be a sign unto that man, 
‘ Loose him and let him go. ’ 

“While he wass still speaking I felt my soul 
carried out into the light of God’s face, and 
my grave-clothes were taken off one by one as 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 53 


Janet would unwind my plaid, and I stood a 
living man before Christ. 

“It wassa sweet June day as we drove home, 
and I lay in sunshine, and every bird that 
sang, and the burnies by the roadside, and the 
rustling of the birch leaves in the wind — oh, 
yes ! and the sound of the horse’s feet were say- 
ing, ‘ Loose him and let him go. ’ 

“Loch Tay looked black angry as we came by 
its side in the morning, and I said to Janet: 

“ ‘It iss the Dead Sea, and I shall be as 
Sodom and Gomorrah;’ but in the evening it 
wass as a sea of glass mingled with fire, and I 
heard the song of Moses and the Lamb sweeping 
over the Loch, but this wass still the sweetest 
word to me, ‘Loose him and let him go. ’ ’’ 


54 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH, 


11 . 

AGAINST PRINCIPALITIES AND POWERS. 

The powers of darkness had been making a 
dead set upon Donald all winter, and toward 
spring he began to lose hope. He came to the 
Cottage once a week with news from the seat 
of war, and I could distinguish three zones of 
depression. Within the first he bewailed his 
inveterate attachment to this world, and his 
absolute indifference to spiritual things, and 
was content to describe himself as Achan. 
The sign that he had entered the second was a 
recurring reference to apostasy, and then you 
had the melancholy satisfaction of meeting the 
living representative of Simon Peter. When 
he passed into the last zone of the Purgatorio, 
Donald was beyond speech, and simply allowed 
one to gather from allusions to thirty pieces 
of silver that he was Judas Iscariot. 

So long as it was only Achan or Simon Peter 
that came to sit with me, one was not gravely 
concerned, but Judas Iscariot meant that Don- 
ald had entered the Valley of the Shadow. 

He made a spirited rally at the winter Sacra- 
ment, and distinguished himself greatly on the 
evening of the Fast day. Being asked to pray, 
as a recognition of comparative cheerfulness, 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIAR BUSH. 55 


Donald continued for five and twenty minutes, 
and unfolded the works of the Devil in such 
minute and vivid detail that Burnbrae talks 
about it to this day, and Lachlan Campbell, 
although an expert in this department, con- 
fessed astonishment. It was a mighty wrestle, 
and it was perhaps natural that Donald should 
groanheavily at regular intervals, and acquaint 
the meeting how the conflict went, but the 
younger people were much shaken, and the 
edification, even of the serious, was not with- 
out reserve. 

While Donald still lingered on the field of 
battle to gather the spoils and guard against 
any sudden return of the enemy, the elders had 
a hurried consultation in the vestry, and Burn- 
brae put the position with admirable force. 

“Naebody can deny that it wes a maist 
extraordinary prayer, and it passes me hoo he 
ken sae muckle aboot the Deevil. In fac’ it’s 
a preevilege tae hae sic an experienced hand 
among us, and I wudna offend Donald Menzies 
for ony thing. But yon groanin’ wes a wee 
thingie discomposin’, and when he said, kind 
o’ confidential, ‘He’s losing his grup, ’ ma ain 
fouk cudna keep their coontenance. Weel, I 
wes thinkin’ that the best plan wud be for 
Maister Campbell juist tae give a bit advice 
and tell Donald that we’re thankfu’ to hear 
him at the meeting, and michty lifted wi’ his 
peteetions, but it wud be an obleegation gin 
he wud leave oot the groans and tell us aifter 
wards what wes gaein’ on, maybe in the Ses- 
sion. ’ ’ 


66 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


Lachlan accepted his commission with quite 
unusual diffidence, and offered a very free 
translation on the way home. 

“It was a mercy to hef you at the meeting 
this night, Donald Menzies, for I saw that 
Satan had come in great strength, and it iss 
not every man that can withstand him. But 
you will not be ignorant of his devices; oh, 
no ! you will be knowing them fery well. Satan 
had not much to say before the prayer wass 
done, and I will not be expecting to see him 
again at this occasion. It wass the elders said, 
‘Donald Menzies has trampled Satan under 
foot.’ Oh, yes! and fery glad men they were, 
for it iss not given to them. But I would be 
thinking, iss it good to let the Devil hear you 
groaning in the battle, and I would be wishing 
that you had kept all your groans and given 
them to me on the road. “ 

“Iss it the groans you are not liking?’’ 
retorted Donald, stung by this unexpected crit- 
icism. “And what iss wrong with groaning? 
But I hef the Scripture, and I will not be car- 
ing what you say, Lachlan Campbell.” 

“If you hef a warrant for groaning, it iss this 
man that will be glad to hear it, for I am not 
remembering that passage.” 

“Maybe you hef not read ‘Maketh interces- 
sion with groanings, ’ but it iss a fery good 
Scripture, and it iss in my Bible.” 

“All Scripture iss good, Donald Menzies, 
but it iss not lawful to divide Scripture, and 
it will read in my Bible, ‘groanings which can- 



“ The women were weeping quietly.” — Page 74. 

Beside the Bonnie Brier Bush. 




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BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 67 


not be uttered, ’ and I wass saying this would 
be the best way with your groans. ’ ’ 

Donald came in to tell me how this compan- 
ion in arms had treated him, and was still sore. 

“He iss in the bondage of the letter these 
days, for he will be always talking about Moses 
with the minister, and I am not hearing that 
iss good for the soul. ’ ’ 

If even Lachlan could not attain to Donald, 
it was perhaps no discredit that the Drumtochty 
mind was at times hopelessly perplexed. 

“He’s a gude cratur and terrible gifted in 
prayer, ’ ’ Netherton explained to Burnbrae after 
a prayer-meeting, when Donald had temporar- 
ily abandoned Satan and given himself to auto- 
biography, “but yon wesna a verra ceevil way 
to speak aboot his faither and mither. ’ ’ 

“A’ doot yir imaginin’, Netherton. Donald 
never mentioned his fouk the nicht, and it’s no 
likely he wud in the prayer-meeting.’' 

“There’s nae imaginin’ aboot it; a’ heard 
him wi’ ma ain ears say twice, ‘My father was 
an Amorite, and my mother a Hittite. ’ I’ll 
take my aith on it. Noo, a’ dinna ken Donald’s 
forbears masel’, for he’s frae Tayside, but sup- 
posin’ they were as bad as bad cud be, it’s no 
for him to blacken his ain blood, and him an 
Elder.” 

“Toots, Netherton, yir aff it a’ thegither. 
Div ye no see yon’s Bible langidge oot o’ a 
Prophet, or maybe Kings, and Donald wes 
usin’ t in a feegurative capaucity?” 

“Feegurativeor no feegurative, Burnbrae, it 
disna maitter; it’s a peetifu’ job howking [dig- 


58 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


ging] thro’ the Bible for ill words tae misca yir 
fouk wi’ afore the public.” 

Burnbrae gave up the contest in despair, 
feeling himself that Old Testament allusions 
were risky, and that Donald’s quotation was 
less than felicitous. 

Donald’s prayers were not known outside the 
Free Kirk circle, but his encounters with the 
evil one were public property, and caused a 
general shudder. Drumtochty was never sure 
who might not be listening, and considered 
that it was safer not to meddle with certain 
nameless people. But Donald waged an open 
warfare in every corner of the parish, in the 
Kirk, by the wayside, in his house, on the road 
to market, and was ready to give any one the 
benefit of his experiences. 

‘‘Donald Menzies is in yonder,” said Hil- 
locks, pointing to the smithy, whose fire sent 
fitful gleams across the dark road, ‘‘and he’s 
carryin’ on maist fearsome. Ye wud think 
tae hear him speak that auld Hornie wes gaein’ 
louse in the parish ; it sent a grue [shiver] doon 
ma back. Faigs, it’s no cannie to be muckle 
wi’ the body, for the Deil and Donald seem 
never separate. Hear him noo; hear him!” 

‘‘Oh, yes,” said Donald, addressing the 
smith and two horror-stricken ploughmen, “I 
hef seen him, and he hass withstood me on the 
road. It wass late, and I was thinking on the 
shepherd and the sheep, and Satan will come 
out from the wood below Hillocks’ farm-house 
[‘‘Gude preserve us,” from Hillocks] and say, 
‘That word is not for you, Donald Menzies.’ 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 69 


But I wass strong that night, and I said, 
‘Neither shall any pluck them out of my hand,’ 
and he will not wait long after that, oh, no’ 
and I did not follow him into the wood. ’ ’ 

The smith relieved by the conclusion of the 
tale, blew a mighty blast, and the fire burst 
into a red blaze, throwing into relief the black 
figure of the smith and the white faces of the 
ploughmen; glancing from the teeth of har- 
rows, and the blades of scythes, and the cruel 
knives of reaping machines, and from instru- 
ments with triple prongs; and lighting up with 
a hideous glare the black sooty recesses of the 
smithy. 

“Keep’s a’,’’ whispered Hillocks, clutching 
my arm, “it’s a little better than the ill place. 

I wish to gudeness I wes safe in ma ain hoose. ’ ’ 

These were only indecisive skirmishes, for 
one evening Donald came to my den with 
despair written on every feature, and I knew 
that fighting had begun at the center, and that 
he was worsted. 

It was half an hour before he became articu- 
late, during which time he sighed as if the 
end of all things had come, and I caught the 
word scapegoat twice ; but at last he told me 
that he had resigned his eldership, and would 
absent himself in future from the Free Kirk. 

“It hass been a weary winter when minister 
and people hef gone into captivity, and on Sab- 
bath the word wass taken altogether from the* 
minister’s mouth, and he spake a language 
which we understood not [it was the first of 
three sermons on the Hexateuch, and had 


60 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


treated of the Jehovistic and Elohistic docu- 
ments with much learning], and I will be ask- 
ing all the way back, ‘Iss it I?’ ‘Iss it I?’ 

“Oh, yes! and when I opened my Bible this 
iss the word I will see, ‘That thou doest, do 
quickly, ’and I knew it wass my sins that had 
brought great judgments on the people, and 
turned the minister into a man of stammering 
lips and another tongue. 

“It wass a mercy that the roof did not fall 
and bury all the people with me ; but we will 
not be tempting the Almighty, for I hef gone 
outside, and now there will be peace and 
blessing. ’’ 

When we left the lighted room and stood on 
the doorstep, Donald pointed to the darkness. 
“There is no star, and you will be remember- 
ing what John saw when the door opened and 
Judas went out. ‘It wass night’ — oh, yes! 
it iss night for me, but it will be light for 
them. ’’ 

As weeks went past, and Donald was seen 
neither at Kirk nor market, my heart went 
out to the lonely man in his soul conflict, and, 
although there was no help in me, I went to 
ask how it fared with him. After the foot- 
path disentangled itself from the pine woods 
and crossed the burn by two fir trees nailed 
together, it climbed a steep ascent to Don- 
ald’s house, but I had barely touched the foot 
when I saw him descending, his head in the 
air, and his face shining. Before any words 
passed, I knew that the battle had been fought 
and won. 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 61 


“It wass last night, and I will be coming 
to tell you. Satan hass gone like darkness 
when the sun arise th, and I hef been de- 
livered. ’ ’ 

There are stories one cannot hear sitting, 
and so we paced the meadow below, rich in 
primroses, with a sloping bank of gorse behind 
us and the pines before us, and the water 
breaking over the stones at our feet. 

“It is three weeks since I saw you, and all 
that time I hef been wandering on the hill 
by day and lying in the barn at night, for it 
wass not good to be with people, and Satan 
wass always saying to me, Judas went to ‘his 
own place. ’ My dog will lay his head on my 
knee and be sorry for me, and the dumb 
animals will be looking at me out of their 
great eyes, and be moaning. 

“The lads are goot singers, and there wass 
always a sound of Psalms on the farm, oh, 
yes, and it wass pleasant to come from the mar- 
ket and hear the Psalms at the foot of the hill. 
It wass like going up to Jerusalem. But there 
would be no Psalms these days, for the lads 
could not sing when their father’s soul wass 
going down into the pit. 

“Oh, no, and there wass no prayer last 
night, but I told the lads to go to bed, and I 
lay down before the fire to wrestle once more 
before I perished. 

“Janet will offer this word and the other, 
and I will be trying them all, but Satan was 
tearing them away as quick as I could speak, 
and he always said, ‘his own place.’ 


62 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

“ ‘There iss no hope for me,’ I cried, ‘but it 
iss a mercy that you and the lads will be safe 
in the City, and maybe the Lord will let me 
see you all through the gate. ’ And that wass 
lifting me, but then I will hear ‘his own place, ’ 
‘his own place,’ and my heart began to fail, and 
I wass nigh to despair. 

“Then I heard a voice, oh, yes, as plain as 
you are hearing me, ‘The blood of Jesus Christ, 
His Son, cleanseth us from all sin. ’ It wass 
like a gleam from the Mercy-seat, but I would 
be waiting to see whether Satan had any 
answer, and my heart wass standing still. But 
there wass no word from him, not one word. 
Then I leaped to my feet and cried, ‘Get thee 
behind me, Satan, ’ and I will look round, and 
there wass no one to be seen but Janet in her 
chair, with the tears on her cheeks, and sne 
wass saying, ‘Thanks be to God, which giveth 
us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.’ 

“The lads were not sleeping fery sound when 
their father was fighting for his life, oh, no, 
and I am not saying but maybe they would be 
praying. It wass not fery long before they 
came down, and Hamish will be looking at my 
face, and then he will get the books, and this 
is the Psalm we sang: 

“ T love the Lord, because my voice 
And prayers He did hear. 

I, while I live, will call on Him, 

Who bow^ed'to me His ear. 

“ ‘God merciful and righteous is*, 

Yea, gracious is our Lord; 

God saves the meek ; I was brought low. 

He did me help afibrd.’ ” 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 63 


This was the victory of Donald Menzies, and 
on reaching home I marked that the early 
roses were beginning to bloom over the door 
through which Donald had gone out into the 
darkness. 


HIS MOTHER’S SERMON. 


He was an ingenious lad, with the callow 
simplicity of a theological college still un- 
touched, and had arrived on the preceding 
Monday at the Free Kirk manse with four cart- 
loads of furniture and a maiden aunt. For 
three days he roamed from room to room in 
the excitement of householding, and made 
suggestions which were received with hilarious 
contempt ; then he shut himself up in his study 
to prepare the great sermon, and his aunt went 
about on tiptoe. During meals on Friday he 
explained casually that his own wish was to 
preach a simple sermon, and that he would 
have done so had he been a private individual, 
but as he had held the MacWhammel scholar- 
ship a deliverance was expected by the country. 

He would be careful and say nothing rash, 
but it was due to himself to state the present 
position of theological thought, and he might 
have to quote once or twice from Ewald. 

His aunt was a saint, with that firm grasp of 
truth, and tender mysticism, whose combina- 
tion is the charm of Scottish piety, and her 
face was troubled. While the minister was 
speaking in his boyish complacency, her 
thoughts were in a room where they had both 
64 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 65 


Stood, five years before, by the death-bed of 
his mother. 

He was broken that day, and his sobs shook 
the bed, for he was his mother’s only son and 
fatherless, and his mother, brave and faithful 
to the last, was bidding him farewell. 

“Dinna greet like that, John, nor break yir 
hert, for it’s the will o’ God, and that’s aye 
best. 

“Here’s my watch and chain,’’ placing them 
beside her son, who could not touch them, nor 
would lift his head, “and when ye feel the 
chain about yir neck it will mind ye o’ yir 
mither’s arms. 

“Ye’ll no forget me, John, I ken that weel, 
and I’ll never forget you. I’ve loved ye here, 
and I’ll love ye yonder. Th’ill no be an ’oor 
when I’ll no pray for ye, and I’ll ken better 
what to ask than I did here ; sae dinna be com- 
fortless. ’ ’ 

Then she felt for his head and stroked it once 
more, but he could not look nor speak. 

‘ ‘ Ye’ill follow Christ, and gin He offers ye His 
cross, ye’ill no refuse it, for He aye carries the 
heavy end Himsel’. He’s guided yir mother 
a’ thae years, and been as guid as a husband 
since yir father’s death, and He’ill hold me fast 
tae the end. He’ill keep ye too, and, John, 
I’ll be watchin’ for ye. Ye’ill no fail me,’’ and 
her poor cold hand that had tended him all his 
days tightened on his head. 

But he could not speak, and her voice was 
failing fast. 

“I canna see ye noo, John, but I know yir 

i Brier Bush 


©6 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

there, and I’ve just one other wish. If God 
calls ye to the ministry, ye ’ill no refuse, an’ 
the first day ye preach in yir ain kirk, speak 
a guid word for Jesus Christ, an’, John, I’ll 
hear ye that day, though ye’ill no see me, and 
I’ll be satisfied. 

A minute after she whispered, “Pray for me, 
and he cried, “My mother, my mother!’’ 

It was a full prayer, and left nothing un- 
asked of Mary’s Son. 

“John,” said his aunt, “your mother is with 
the Lord, ’’ and he saw death for the first time, 
but it was beautiful with the peace that passeth 
all understanding. 

Five years had passed, crowded with thought 
and work, and his aunt wondered whether he 
remembered that last request, or indeed had 
heard it in his sorrow. 

“What are you thinking about, aunt? Are 
you afraid of my theology?’’ 

“No, John, it’s no that, laddie, for I ken 
ye’ill say what ye believe to be true withoot 
fear o’ man,’’ and she hesitated. 

“Come, out with it, auntie; you’re my only 
mother now, you know,’’ and the minister put 
his arm around her, “as well as the kindest, 
bonniest, goodest aunt ever man had. ’ ’ 

Below his student self-conceit he was a good 
lad, and sound of heart. 

“Shame on you, John, to make a fule o’ an 
auld dune body, but ye’ill no come round me 
wi’ yir flattery. I ken ye ower weel,’’ and as 
she caught the likeness in his face, her eyes 
filled suddenly. 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 67 


“What’s the matter, auntie? Will ye no tell 
me?” 

“Dinna be angry wi’ me, John, but a’m con- 
cerned aboot Sabbath, for a’ve been praying 
ever syne ye were called to Drumtochty that it 
micht be a great day, and that I micht see ye 
cornin’ tae yir people, laddie, wi’ the beauty o’ 
the Lord upon ye, according tae the auld 
prophecy ‘How beautiful upon the mountains 
are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings,, 
that publisheth peace, ’ ’ ’ and again she stopped. 

“Go on, auntie, go on,” he whispered; “say 
all that’s in yir mind.” 

“It’s no for me tae advise ye, who am only a 
simple auld woman, who ken’s naethin’ but 
her Bible and the Catechism, and it’s no that 
a’m feared for the new views, or aboot yir 
faith, for I aye mind that there’s mony things 
the Speerit hes still tae teach us, and I ken 
weel the man that follows Christ will never lose 
his way in ony thicket. But it’s the fouk, 
John, a’m anxious aboot; the flock o’ sheep the 
Lord hes given ye tae feed for Him.” 

She could not see his face, but she felt him 
gently press her hand, and took courage. 

“Ye maun mind, laddie, that they’re no 
clever and learned like what ye are, but juist 
plain country fouk, ilka ane wi’ his ain temp- 
tation, an’a’ sair trachled wi’ mony cares o’ this 
world. They’ill need a clear word tae comfort 
their herts and show them the way everlasting. 
Ye’ill say what’s richt, nae, doot o’ that, and 
a’body ’ill be pleased wi’ ye, but, oh, laddie, 
be sure ye say a guid word for Jesus Christ. ” 


68 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


The minister’s face whitened, and his arm 
relaxed. He rose hastily and went to the 
door, but in going out he gave his aunt an un- 
derstanding look, such as passes between people 
who have stood together in a sorrow. The son 
had not forgotten his mother’s request. 

The manse garden lies towards the west, and 
as the minister paced its little square of turf 
sheltered by fir hedges, the sun was going 
down behind the Grampians. Black massy 
clouds had begun to gather in the evening and 
threatened to obscure the sunset, which was 
the finest sight a Drumtochty man was ever 
likely to see, and a means of grace to every sen- 
sible heart in the glen. But the sun had beat 
back the clouds on either side, and shot them 
through with glory, and now between piled bil- 
lows of light he went along a shining pathway 
into the Gates of the West. The minister stood 
still before that spectacle, his face bathed in 
the golden glory, and then before his eyes the 
gold deepened into an awful red, and the red 
passed into shades of violet and green, beyond 
painter’s hand or the imagination of man. It 
seemed to him as if a victorious saint had en- 
tered through the gates into the city, washed 
in the blood of the Lamb, and the after-glow 
of his mother’s life fell solemnly on his soul. 
The last trace of the sunset had faded from the 
hills when the minister came in, and his face 
was of one who had seen a vision. He asked 
his aunt to have worship with the servant, for 
he must be alone in his study. 

It was a cheerful room in the daytime, with 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 69 


its southern window, through which the minis- 
ter saw the roses touching the very glass and 
dwarf apple trees lining the garden walks; 
there was also a western window that he might 
watch each day close. It was a pleasant room 
now, when the curtains were drawn, and the 
light of the lamp fell on the books he loved, 
and which bade him welcome. One by one he 
had arranged the hard-bought treasures of stu- 
dent days in the little bookcase, and had 
planned for himself that sweetest of pleasures, 
an evening of desultory reading. But his 
books went out of his mind as he looked at the 
sermon shining beneath the glare of the lamp 
and demanding judgment. He had finished its 
last page with honest pride that afternoon, and 
had declaimed it, facing the southern window, 
with a success that amazed himself. His hope 
was that he might be kept humble, and not 
called to Edinburgh for at least two years ; and 
now he lifted the sheets with fear. The bril- 
liant opening, with its historical parallel, this 
review of modern thought reinforced by tell- 
ing quotations, that trenchant criticism of old- 
fashioned views, would not deliver. For the 
audience had vanished, and left one careworn, 
but ever beautiful face, which gentle eyes were 
waiting with a yearning look. Twice he 
crushed the sermon in his hands, and turned 
to the fire his aunt’s care had kindled, and 
twice he repented and smoothed it out. What 
else could he say now to the people? and then 
in the stillness of the room he heard a voice, 
“Speak a guid word for Jesus Christ.” 


70 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

Next minute he was kneeling on the hearth, 
and pressing the magnum opus^ that was to 
shake Drumtochty, into the hearth of the red 
fire, and he saw, half-smiling and half weep- 
ing, the impressive words “Semitic environ- 
ment” shrivel up and disappear. As the 
last black flake fluttered out of sight, the face 
looked at him again, but this time the sweet 
brown eyes were full of peace. 

It was no masterpiece, but only the crude 
production of a lad who knew little of letters 
and nothing of the world. Very likely it 
would have done neither harm nor good, but 
it was his best, and he gave it for love’s sake, 
and I suppose that there is nothing in a human 
life so precious to God, neither clever words 
nor famous deeds, as the sacrifices of love. 

The moon flooded his bedroom with silver 
light, and he felt the presence of his mother. 
His bed stood ghostly with its white curtains, 
and he remembered how every night his mother 
knelt by its side in prayer for him. He is a 
boy once more, and repeats the Lord’s Prayer, 
then he cries again, ‘ ‘ My mother ! my mother ! ’ ’ 
and an indescribable contentment fills his 
heart. 

His prayer next morning was very short, 
but afterwards he stood at the window, for a 
space, and when he turned, his aunt said: 

“Ye will get yir sermon, and it will be worth 
hearing.” “How did ye know?” 

But she only smiled, “I heard you pray.” 

When he shut himself into the study that 
Saturday morning, his aunt went into her room 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 71 


above, and he knew she had gone to intercede 
for him. 

An hour afterwards he was pacing the gar- 
den in such anxious thought that he crushed 
with his foot a rose lying on the path, and then 
she saw his face suddenly lighten, and he hur- 
ried to the house, but first he plucked a bunch 
of forget-me-nots. In the evening she found 
them on his sermon. 

Two hours later — for still she prayed and 
watched in faithfulness to mother and son — she 
observed him come out and wander round the 
garden in great joy. He lifted up the soiled 
rose and put it in his coat ; he released a but- 
terfly caught in some mesh ; he buried his face 
in fragrant honeysuckle. Then she under- 
stood that his heart was full of love, and was 
sure that it would be well on the morrow. 

When the bell began to ring, the minister 
rose from his knees and went to his aunt’s 
room to be robed, for this was a covenant be- 
tween them. 

His gown has spread out in its black silken 
glory, but he sat down in despair. 

“Auntie, whatever shall we do, for I’ve for- 
gotten the bands?” 

“But I’ve not forgot them, John, and here 
are six pair wrought with my own hands, and 
now sit still and I’ll tie them round my laddie’s 
neck.” 

When she had given the last touch, and he 
was ready to go, a sudden seriousness fell upon 
them. 

“Kiss me, auntie.” 


72 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


“For your mother, and her God be with 
you, “and then he went through the garden 
and underneath the honeysuckle and into the 
kirk, where every Free Churchman in Drum- 
tochty that could get out of bed, and half the 
Established Kirk, were waiting in expectation. 

I sat with his aunt in the minister’s pew, and 
shall always be glad that I was at that service. 
When winter lies heavy upon the glen I go 
upon my travels, and in my time have seen 
many religious functions. I have been in Mr. 
Spurgeon’s Tabernacle, where the people wept 
one minute and laughed the next ; have heard 
Canon Liddon in St. Paul’s, and the sound of 
that high, clear voice is still with me, “Awake, 
awake, put on thy strength, O Zion;’’ have 
seen High Mass in St. Peter’s, and stood in 
the dusk of the Duomo at Florence when Padre 
Agostino thundered against the evils of the 
day. But I never realized the unseen world 
as I did that day in the Free Kirk of Drum- 
tochty. 

It is impossible to analyze a spiritual effect, 
because it is largely an atmosphere, but cer- 
tain circumstances assisted. One was instantly 
prepossessed in favor of a young minister who 
gave out the second paraphrase at his first 
service, for it declared his filial reverence and 
won for him the blessing of a cloud of wit- 
nesses. No Scottish man can ever sing, 

“God of our fathers, be the God 
Of their succeeding race.” 

with a dry heart. It satisfied me at once that 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 73 

the minister was of a fine temper when, after a 
brave attempt to join, he hid his face and was 
silent. We thought none the worse of him 
that he was nervous, and two or three old peo- 
ple who had suspected self-sufficiency took him 
to their hearts when the minister concluded 
the Lord’s prayer hurriedly, having omitted 
two petitions. But we knew it was not ner- 
vousness which made him pause for ten sec- 
onds after praying for widows and orphans, 
and in the silence which fell upon us the Di- 
vine Spirit had free access. His youth com- 
mended him, since he was also modest, for 
every mother had come with an inarticulate 
prayer that the “puir laddie wud dae weel on 
his first day, and him only twenty-four.” 
Texts I can never remember, nor, for that 
matter, the words of sermons; but the subject 
was Jesus Christ, and before he had spoken 
five minutes, I was convinced, who am outside 
dogmas and churches, that Christ was present. 
The preacher faded from before one’s eyes, 
and there rose the figure of the Nazarene, best 
lover of every human soul, with a face of ten- 
der patience such as Sarto gave the Master in 
the Church of the Annunziata, and stretch- 
ing out His hands to old folk and little children 
as He did, before His death, in Galilee. His 
voice might be heard any moment, as I have 
imagined it in my lonely hours by the winter 
fire or on the solitary hills — soft, low, and 
sweet, penetrating like music to the secret of 
the heart, “Come unto Me . . . and I will 
give you rest.” 


74 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

During a pause in the sermon I glanced up 
the church, and saw the same spell held the 
people. Donald Menzies had long ago been 
caught into the third heaven, and was now 
hearing words which it is not lawful to utter. 
Campbell, in his watch-tower at the back, had 
closed his eyes, and was praying. The women 
were weeping quietly, and the rugged faces of 
our men were subdued and softened, as when 
the evening sun plays on the granite stone. 

But what will stand out forever before my 
mind was the sight of Marget Howe. Her 
face was as white as death, and her wonderful 
gray eyes were shining through a mist of tears, 
so that I caught the light in the manse pew. 
She was thinking of George, and had taken the 
minister to her heart. 

The elders, one by one, gripped the minis- 
ter’s hand in the vestry, and, though plain, 
homely men, they were the godliest in the 
glen ; but no man spoke save Burnbrae. 

“la’ but lost ae fairm for the Free Kirk, 
and I wud hae lost ten tae be in the Kirk this 
day. ’’ 

Donald walked with me homewards, but 
would only say: 

“There was a man sent from God, whose 
name was John.’’ At the cottage he added, 
“The friend of the bridegroom rejoiced greatly 
because of the bridegroom’s voice.’’ 

Beneath the honeysuckle at his garden gate 
a woman was waiting. 

“My name is Marget Howe, and I’m the 
wife of William Howe, of Whinnie Knowe. My 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 75 


only son wes preparin’ for the ministry, but 
God wanted him nearly a year syne. When ye 
preached the Evangel o’ Jesus the day I heard 
his voice, and I loved you. Ye hev nae mither 
on earth, I hear, and I hae nae son, and I 
wantit tae say that if ye ever wish tae speak 
to ony woman as ye wud tae yir mither, come 
tae Whinnie Knowe, an’ I’ll coont it ane of 
the Lord’s consolations.” 

His aunt could only meet him in the study, 
and when he looked on her his lip quivered, 
for his heart was wrung with one wistful re- 
gret. 

“Oh, auntie, if she had only been spared to 
see this day, and her prayers answered.” 

But his aunt flung her arms round his neck. 

“Dinna be cast doon, laddie, nor be unbe- 
lievin’. Yir mither has heard every word, and 
is satisfied, for ye did it in remembrance o’ her, 
and yon was yir mither’s sermon.” 


THE TRANSFORMATION OF 
LACHLAN CAMPBELL. 


CHAPTER 1. 

A GRAND INQUISITOR. 

The Free Kirk of Drumtochty had no gal- 
lery, but a section of seats at the back was 
raised two feet, and anyone in the first pew 
might be said to sit in the “briest o’ the laft. ” 
When Lachlan Campbell arrived from the priv- 
ileged parish of Auchindarroch, where the 
“Men” ruled with iron hand and no one shaved 
on Sabbath, he examined the lie of country 
with the eye of a strategist, and seized at once 
a corner seat on the crest of the hill. From 
this vantage ground, with his back to the wall 
and a clear space left between himself and his 
daughter Flora, he had an easy command of 
the pulpit, and within six months had been 
constituted a court of review neither minister 
nor people could lightly disregard. It was not 
that Lachlan spoke hastily or at length, for his 
policy was generally a silence pregnant with 
judgment, and his deliverances were for the 
most part in parables, none the less awful be- 
cause hard of interpretation. Like every true 
76 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 77 

Celt, he had the power of reserve, and knew 
the value of mystery. His voice must not be 
heard in irresponsible gossip at the Kirk door, 
and he never condescended to the level of Mrs. 
MacFadyen, our recognized sermon taster, who 
criticised everything in the technique of the 
pulpit, from the number of heads in a sermon, 
to the air with which a probationer used his 
230cket-handkerchief. She lived in the eye of 
the public, and gave her opinions with the 
light heart of a newspaper writer ; but Lachlan 
kept himself in the shadow and wore a manner 
of studied humility as became the adminis- 
trator of the Holy Office in Drumtochty. 

Lachlan was a little man, with a spare, wiry 
body, iron-gray hair and whiskers carefully 
arranged, a keen old-fashioned face sharpened 
by much spiritual thinking, and eyes that 
looked at you from beneath shaggy eyebrows 
as from some other world. His face had an 
irresistible suggestion of a Skye terrier, the 
most serious of animals, with the hair reduced, 
and Drumsheugh carried us all with him when, 
in a moment of inspiration, he declared that 
“the body looks as if he hed juist come oot o’ 
the Ark.” He was a shepherd to trade, and 
very faithful in all his work, but his life busi- 
ness was theology, from Supralapsarianism in 
Election to the marks of faith in a believer’s 
heart. His library consisted of some fifty vol- 
umes of ancient divinity, and lay on an old oak 
kist close to his hand, where he sat beside the 
fire of a winter night. When the sheep were 
safe and his day’s labor was over, he read by 


78 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


the light of the fire and the “crusie” (oil-lamp) 
overhead; Witsius on the Covenants, or Ruth- 
erford’s “Christ Dying,” or Banyan’s “Grace 
Abounding,” or Owen’s “130th Psalm,” while 
the collies slept at his feet, and Flora put the 
finishing stroke to some bit of rustic finer)^ 
Worship was always colored by the evening’s 
reading, but the old man never forgot to pray 
that they both might have a place in the ever- 
lasting covenant, and that the backslidings of 
Scotland might be healed. 

As our inquisitor, Lachlan searched anxiously 
for sound doctrine and deep experience, but 
he was not concerned about learning, and 
fluency he regarded with disgust. When a 
young minister from Muirtown stamped twice 
in his prayer at the Drumtochty Fast, and 
preached with great eloquence from the words, 
“And there was no more sea,” repeating the 
text at the end of each paragraph, and con- 
cluding the sermon with “Lord Ullin’s Daugh- 
ter,” the atmosphere round Lachlan became 
electric, and no one dared to speak to him out- 
side. He never expressed his mind on this 
melancholy exhibition, but the following Sab- 
bath he explained the principle on which they 
elected ministers at Auchindarroch, which was 
his standard of perfection. 

“Six young men came, and they did not sing 
songs in the pulpit. Oh, no, they preached 
fery well, and I said to Angus Bain, ‘They 
are all goot lads, and there is nothing wrong 
with their doctrine. ’ 

“Angus wass one of the ‘Men,’ and saw what 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


79 


wass hidden from me, and he will be saying, 
‘Oh, yes, they said their lesson fery pretty, but 
I did not see them tremble, Lachlan Camp- 
bell. Another iss coming, and seven is a goot 
number. ’ 

“It wass next Sabbath that he came, and he 
wass a white man, giving out his text, ‘ Blessed 
are they which are called unto the marriage 
supper of the Lamb, ’ and I wass thinking that 
the Lord had laid too great a burden on the 
lad, and that he could not be fit for such a 
work. It wass not more than ten minutes be- 
fore he will be trying to tell us what he wass 
seeing, and will not hef the words. He had 
to go down from the pulpit as a man that had 
been in the heavenly places, and wass stricken 
dumb. 

“ ‘It iss the Lord that has put me to shame 
this day,’ he said to the elders, ‘and I will 
nefer show my face again in Auchindarroch, 
for I ought not to have meddled with things 
too high for me. ’ 

“ ‘ You will show your face here every Sab- 
bath,’ answered Angus Bain, ‘for the Lord said 
unto me, “Wait for the man that trembles at 
the Word, and iss not able to speak, and it will 
be a sign unto you,’’ ‘and a fery goot minister 
he wass, and made the hypocrites in Zion to be 
afraid. ’’ 

Lachlan dealt tenderly with our young Free 
Kirk minister, for the sake of his first day, and 
passed over some very shallow experience with, 
out remark, but an autumn sermon roused him 
to a sense of duty. For some days a storm of 


80 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

wind and rain had been stripping the leaves 
from the trees and gathering them in sodden 
heaps upon the ground. The minister looked 
out on the garden where many holy thoughts 
had visited him, and his heart sank like lead, 
for it was desolate, and of all its beauty there 
remained but one rose clinging to its stalk, 
drenched and faded. It seemed as if youth, 
with its flower of promise and hope, had been 
beaten down, and a sense of loneliness fell on 
his soul. He had no heart for work, and crept 
to bed, broken and dispirited. During the 
night the rain ceased, and the north wind be- 
gan to blow, which cleanses nature in every 
pore, and braces each true man for his battle. 
The morrow was one of those glorious days 
which herald winter, and as the minister 
tramped along the road, where the dry leaves 
crackled beneath his feet, and climbed to the 
moor with head on high, the despair of yester- 
day vanished. The wind had ceased, and the 
glen lay at his feet, distinct in the cold, clear 
air, from the dark mass of pines that closed its 
tipper end to the swelling woods of oak and 
beech that cut it off from the great Strath. 
He had received a warm welcome from all 
kinds of people, and now he marked with hu- 
man sympathy each little homestead with its 
belt of firs against the winter’s storms, and its 
stackyard where the corn had been gathered 
safe ; the ploughman and his horses cutting 
brown ribbons in the bare stubble ; dark 
squares where the potato stalks have withered 
to the ground, and women are raising the 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 81 


roots, and here and there a few cattle still out 
in the fields. His eyes fell on the great wood 
through which he had rambled in August, now 
one blaze of color, rich green and light yellow, 
with patches of fiery red and dark purple. 
God seemed to have given him a sermon, and 
he wrote that evening, like one inspired, on 
the same parable of nature Jesus loved, with 
its subtle interpretation of our sorrow, joys, 
trust, and hope. People told me that it was a 
‘rael bonnie sermon,” and that Netherton had 
forgotten his after-sermon snuff, although it 
was his turn to pass the box to Burnbrae. 

The minister returned to his study in a fine 
glow of body and soul, to find a severe figure 
standing motionless in the middle of the room. 

“Wass that what you call a sermon?” said 
Lachlan Campbell, without other greeting. 

John Carmichael was still so full of joy that 
he did not catch the tone, and explained with 
college pedantry that it was hardly a sermon, 
nor yet a lecture. 

“You may call it a meditation.” 

‘‘I will be calling it an essay without one 
bite of grass for starving sheep. ’ ’ 

Then the minister awoke from a pleasant 
dream, as if one had flung cold water on his 
naked body. 

‘‘What was wrong?” with an anxious look at 
the stern little man who of a sudden had be- 
come his judge. 

“There wass nothing right, for I am not 
thinking that trees and leaves and stubble 
fields will save our souls, and I did not hear 

6 Brier Bush 


82 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

about sin and repentance and the work of 
Christ. It iss sound doctrine that we need, 
and a great peety you are not giving it.” 

The minister had been made much of in col- 
lege circles, and had a fair idea of himself. 
He was a kindly lad, but he did not see why 
he should be lectured by an old Highlandman 
who read nothing except Puritans, and was 
blind with prejudice. When they parted that 
Sabbath afternoon, it was the younger man 
that had lost his temper, and the other did not 
offer to shake hands. 

Perhaps the minister would have understood 
Lachlan better if he had known that the old 
man could not touch food when he got home, 
and spent the evening in a fir wood praying 
for the lad he had begun to love. And Lachlan 
would have had a lighter heart if he had heard 
the minister questioning himself whether he 
had denied the Evangel or sinned against one 
of Christ’s disciples. They argued together; 
they prayed apart. 

Lachlan was careful to say nothing, but the 
congregation felt that his hand was against 
the minister, and Burnbrae took him to 
task. 

“Ye maunna be ower hard on him, Maister 
Campbell, for he’s but young, and cornin’ on 
fine. He hes a hearty word for ilka body on 
the road, and the sicht o’ his fresh young face 
in the poopit is a sermon itsel’.” 

“You are wrong, Burnbrae, if you will be 
thinking that my heart iss not warm to the 
minister, for it went out unto him from the day 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 83 


he preached his first sermon. But the Lord 
regardeth not the countenance of man.” 

“Nae doot, nae doot! but I canna see ony- 
thing wrang in his doctrine ; it wudna be rea- 
sonable tae expect auld-fashioned sermons frae 
a young man, and I wud coont them barely 
honest. A’m no denying that he gaes far 
afield, and tak’s us tae strange lands when he’s 
on his travels, but ye ’ill acknowledge that he 
gaithers mony treasures, and he aye comes 
back tae Christ. ” 

“No, I will not be saying that John Car- 
michael does not love Christ, for I hef seen the 
Lord in his sermons like a face through a lat- 
tice. Oh, yes! and I hef felt the fragrance of 
the myrrh. But I am not liking his doctrine, 
and I wass thinking that some day there will 
be no original sin left in the parish of Drum- 
tochty. ’ ’ 

It was about this time that the minister made 
a great mistake, although he was trying to do 
his best for the people, and always obeyed his 
conscience. He used to come over to the Cot- 
tage for a ramble through my books, and one 
evening he told me that he had prepared what 
he called a “course” on Biblical criticism, and 
was going to place Drumtochty on a level with 
Germany. It was certainly a strange part for 
me to advise a minister, but I had grown to 
like the lad, because he was full of enthusiasm 
and too honest for this world, and I implored 
him to be cautious. Drumtochty was not anx- 
ious to be enlightened about the authors of the 
Pentateuch, being quite satisfied with Moses, 


84 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


and it was possible that certain good men in 
Drumtochty might resent any interference with 
their hereditary notions. Why conld he not 
read this subject for his own pleasure, and 
teach it quietly in classes? Why give himself 
away in the pulpit? This worldly counsel 
brought the minister to a white heat, and he 
rose to his feet. Had he not been ordained 
to feed his people with truth, and was he not 
bound to tell them all he knew? We were liv- 
ing in an age of transition, and he must pre- 
pare Christ’s folk that they be not taken una- 
wares. If he failed in his duty through any 
fear of consequences, men would rise after- 
ward to condemn him for cowardice, and lay 
their unbelief at his door. When he ceased, I 
was ashamed of my cynical advice, and resolved 
never again to interfere with “courses” or 
other matters above the lay mind. But greater 
knowledge of the world had made me a wise 
prophet* 

Within a month the Free Kirk was in an 
uproar, and when I dropped in one Sabbath 
morning the situation seemed to me a very 
pathetic tragedy. The minister was offering 
to the honest country-folk a mass of immature 
and undigested details about the Bible, and 
they were listening with wearied, perplexed 
faces. Lachlan Campbell sat grim and watch- 
ful, without a sign of flinching, but even from 
the Manse pew I could detect the suffering of 
his heart. When the minister blazed into 
polemic against the bigotry of the old school, 
the iron face quivered as if a father had been 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 85 


Struck by his son. Carmichael looked thin 
and nervous in the pulpit, and it came to me 
that if new views are to be preached to old- 
fashioned people it ought not to be by lads, 
who are always heady and intolerant, but by a 
stout man of middle age, with a rich voice and 
a good-natured manner. Had Carmichael 
rasped and girded much longer, one would 
have believed in the inspiration of the vowel 
points, and I left the church with a low heart, 
for this was a woeful change from his first 
sermon. 

Lachlan would not be pacified, not even by 
the plea of the minister’s health. 

“Oh, yes, I am seeing that he is ill, and I 
will be as sorry as any man in Drumtochty. 
But it iss not too much work, as they are 
saying; it iss the judgment of God. . It iss not 
goot to meddle with Moses, and John Car- 
michael will be knowing that. His own sister 
wass not respectful to Moses, and she will not 
be feeling f ery well next day. ’ ’ 

But Burnbrae added that the “auld man 
cudna be mair cast doon if he hed lost his 
dochter. “ 

The peace of the Free Kirk had been broken, 
and the minister was eating out his heart, 
when he remembered the invitation of Mar- 
get Howe, and went one sweet spring day to 
Whinnie Knowe. 

Marget met him with her quiet welcome 
at the garden gate. 

“Ye hae done me a great kindness in cornin’, 
Maister Carmichael, and if ye please we’ill sit 


86 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

in this sunny corner which is dear tae me, and 
ye’ill tell me yir troubles.” 

So they sat down together beside the brier 
bush, and after one glance at MargeUs face the 
minister opened his heart, and told her the 
great controversy with Lachlan. 

Marget lifted her head as one who had heard 
of some brave deed, and there was a ring in 
her voice. 

‘‘Itmak’s me prood before God that there 
are twa men in Drumtochty who follow their 
conscience as king, and coont truth dearer 
than their ain freends. It’s peetiful when God’s 
bairns fecht through greed and envy, but it’s 
hertsome when they are wullin’ tae wrestle 
aboot the Evangel, for surely the end o’ it a’ 
maun be peace. 

“A’ve often thocht that in the auld days 
baith the man on the rack and the inqueesitor 
himself might be gude men and accepted o’ 
God, and maybe the inqueesitor suffered mair 
than the martyr. A’m thinkin’, Maister Car- 
michael, that it’s been hardest on Lachlan.” 

The minister’s head was buried in his hands, 
but his heart was with Marget. 

“It’s a strange buik the Bible, and no the 
bulk we wud hae made, tae judge by oor bit 
creeds and confessions. It’s like a head o’ aits 
in the harvest time. There’s the ear that 
hands the grain and keeps it safe, and that’s 
the history, and there’s often no mickle nutri- 
ment in it; then there’s the corn lying in the 
ear, which is the Evangel frae Eden tae Rev- 
elation, and that is the bread o’ the soul. But 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 87 


the corn maun be threshed first and the cauf 
[chaff] cleaned aff. It’s a bonnie sicht tae see 
the pure grain failin’ like a rinnin’ burn on 
the corn-room floor, and a glint o’ the sun 
through the window turning it intae gold. 
But the Stour [dust] o’ the cauf room is mair 
than onybody can abide, and the cauf’s worth 
naethin’ when the corn’s awa. ” 

“Ye mean,” said the minister, “that my 
study is the threshin’ mill, and that some of 
the chaff has got into the pulpit. ” 

“Yir no offended,” and Marget’s voice 
trembled. 

Then the minister lifted his head and laughed 
aloud with joy, while a swift flash of humor 
lit up Marget’s face. 

“You’ve been the voice of God to me this 
day, Mrs. Howe. But if I give up my ‘course,’ 
the people will misunderstand, for I know 
everything I gave was true, and I would give 
it all again, if it were expedient.” 

“Nae fear, Maister Carmichael; naebody 
misunderstands that luves, and the fouk all 
luve ye, and the man that hands ye dearest is 
Lachlan Campbell. I saw the look in his een 
that canna be mista’en. ” 

“I’ll go to him this very day,” and the 
minister leaped to his feet. 

“Ye ’ill no regret it,” said Marge t, “for God 
will give ye peace.” 

Lachlan did not see the minister coming, 
for he was busy with a lamb that had lost its 
way and hurt itself. Carmichael marked with 
a growing tenderness at his heart how gently 


88 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


the old man washed and bound up the wounded 
leg, all the time crooning to the frightened 
creature in the sweet Gaelic speech, and also 
how he must needs give the lamb a drink of 
warm milk before he set it free. 

When he rose from his work of mercy, he 
faced the minister. 

For an instant Lachlan hesitated, and then 
at the look on Carmichael’s face he held out 
both his hands. 

“This iss a goot day for me, and I bid you 
ten thousand welcomes.” 

But the minister took the first word. 

“You and I, Lachlan, have not seen eye to 
eye about some things lately, and I am not 
here to argue which is nearer the truth, because 
perhaps we may always differ on some lesser 
matters. But once I spoke rudely to you, and 
often I have spoken unwisely in my sermons. 
You are an old man and I am a young, and I 
ask you to forgive me and to pray that both of 
us may be kept near the heart of our Lord, 
whom we love, and who loves us. ’ ’ 

No man can be so courteous as a Celt, and 
Lachlan was of the pure Highland breed, kind- 
est of friends, fiercest of foes. 

“You hef done a beautiful deed this day, 
Maister Carmichael ; and the grace of God must 
hef been exceeding abundant in your heart. 
It iss this man that asks your forgiveness, for 
I wass full of pride, and did not speak to you 
as an old man should ; but God iss my witness 
that I would hef plucked out my right eye for 
your sake. You will say every word God 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 89 


gives you, and I will take as much as God gives 
me, and there will be a covenant between us 
as long as we live. ” 

They knelt together on the earthen floor of 
that Highland cottage, the old school and the 
new, before one Lord, and the only difference 
in their prayers was that the young man prayed 
they might keep the faith once delivered unto 
the saints, while the burden of the old man’s 
prayer was that they might be led into all truth. 

Lachlan’s portion that evening ought to have 
been the slaying of Sisera, from the Book of 
Judges, but instead he read, to Flora’s amaze- 
ment — it was the night before she left her 
home — the thirteenth chapter of ist Corinthi- 
ans, and twice he repeated to himself, “Now 
we see through a glass darkly, but then face to 
face. ’ ’ 


90 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


II. 

HIS BITTER SHAME. 

The Free Kirk people were very proud of 
their vestry because the Established Church 
had none, and because it was reasonably sup- 
posed to be the smallest in Scotland. When 
the minister, who touched five feet eleven, and 
the beadle, who was three inches taller, assem- 
bled for the procession, with the precentor, a 
man of fair proportions, there was no waste 
ground in that room, and any messenger from 
the church door had to be selected with judg- 
ment, ‘ ‘ Step up, Archie, man, tae the vestry, ’ ’ 
Burnbrae would say to the one undersized man 
in Drumtochty, “and tell the minister no tae 
forget the Jev/s. Ye can birse [push] in fine, 
but it wud beat me to get by the door. It’s a 
bonnie bit room, but three fouk stannin’ makes 
it contrakit for another man. ’ ’ 

It was eight feet by eight, and consisted 
largely of two doors and a fireplace, and its 
chief glory was a portrait of Dr. Chalmers, 
whose face, dimly seen in the light of the lamp, 
was a charter of authority, and raised the pro- 
ceedings to the level of history. Lockers on 
either side of the mantel-piece contained the 
vchurch library, which abounded in the lives of 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 91 


Scottish worthies, and was never lightly dis- 
turbed. Where there was neither grate nor 
door, a narrow board ran along the wall, on 
which it was simply a point of honor to seat 
the twelve deacons, who met once a month to 
raise the Sustentation Fund by modest, heroic 
sacrifices of hard-working people, and to keep 
the slates on the church roof in winter. When 
they had nothing else to do, they talked about 
the stove which “came out in ’43,“ and, when 
it was in good humor, would raise the temper- 
ature in winter one degree above freezing. 
Seating the court was a work of art, and could 
only be achieved by the repression of the small- 
er men, who looked out from the loop-holes of 
retreat, the projection of bigger men on to 
tbek neighbors’ knees, and the absolute elim- 
ination of Archie Moncur, whose voice made 
motions on temperance from the lowest depths. 
Netherton was always the twelfth man to 
arrive, and nothing could be done till he was 
safely settled. Only some six inehes were 
reserved at the end of the bench, and he was 
a full sitter, but he had discovered a triek of 
sitting sideways and screwing his leg against 
the opposite wall, that seeured the court as well 
as himself in their places on the principle of a 
compressed spring. When this operation was 
completed, Burnbrae used to say to the min- 
ister, who sat in the middle on a cane chair 
before the tiniest of tables — the living was 
small, and the ministers never grew fat till 
they left — 

“We’re fine and comfortable noo, Moder- 


92 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


ator, and ye can begin business as sune as ye 
like.” 

As there were only six elders they could sit 
in state, besides leaving a vacant space for 
any penitents who came to confess their sins 
and receive absolution, or some catechumen 
who wished to be admitted to the Sacrament. 
Carmichael used to say that a meeting of Ses- 
sion affected his imagination, and would have 
made an interior for Rembrandt. On one side 
of the table sat the men who represented the 
piety of the district, and were supposed to be 
“far ben” in the Divine fellowship, and on the 
other some young girl in her loneliness, who 
wrung her handkerchief in terror of this 
dreaded spiritual court, and hoped within her 
heart that no elder would ask her ‘‘effectual 
calling” from the Shorter Catechism; while 
the little lamp, hanging from the ceiling and 
swinging gently in the wind that had free 
access from every airt, cast a fitful light on the 
fresh, tearful face of the girl and the hard, 
weather-beaten countenances of the elders, 
composed into a serious gravity not untouched 
by tenderness. They were little else than 
laboring men, but no one was elected to that 
court unless he had given pledges of godliness, 
and they bore themselves as men who had the 
charge of souls. 

The little Sanhedrim had within it the school 
of Hillel, which was swayed by mercy, and its 
Rabbi was Burnbrae ; and the school of Sham- 
mai, whose rule was inflexible justice, and its 
Rabbi was Lachlan Campbell. Burnbrae was 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 93 


a big-hearted man, with a fatherly manner, and 
had a genius for dealing with “young commun- 
icants. ’ ’ 

“Weel, Jessie, we’re awfu’ pleased tae think 
yer gaein’ forrit, and the Dominie wes tellin’ 
me juist last week that ye did yir work at 
schule graund, and knew yir Bible frae end tae 
end. 

“It ’ll be no easy to speir [ask] the like o’ 
you questions, but ye mind Abraham, Jessie.” 

“Ou, ay!” and Jessie is all alert, although 
she is afraid to look up. 

“What was the name o’ his wife, noo?” 

“Sarah, an’ their son was Isaac.” 

“That’s richt, and what aboot Isaac’s wife?” 

“Isaac mairrit Rebecca, and they had twa 
sons, J acob and Esau, ’ ’ and the girl takes a 
shy glance at the honest elder, and begins to 
feel at home. 

“Domsie wesnafar wrang, a’ see, but it’s no 
possible ye cud tell us the names o’ Jacob’s 
sons ; it's maybe no fair tae ask sich a teuch 
question,” knowing all the while that this was 
a test case of Domsie ’s. 

When Jessie reached Benjamin, Burnbrae 
could not contain himself. 

“It’s nae use trying to stick Jessie wi’ the 
Bible, neebers; we’ill see what she can dae wi’ 
the Carritches [Catechism]. Yir no the lassie 
that said the questions frae beginning tae end 
wi’ twa mistak’s, are ye?” 

Yes, she was, and dared him to come on, for 
Jessie had forgotten the minister and all the 
Session. 


94 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

“The elders wud like tae hear ‘What is the 
Lord’s Supper?’ ’’ 

“That’s it; and, Jessie, ma woman, gie’s the 
‘worthy receiving. ’ ” 

Jessie achieves another triumph, and is now 
ready for anything. 

“Ye hae the Word weel stored in yir mind, 
lassie, and ye maun keep it in yir life, and 
dinna forget that Christ’s a gude Maister.” 

“A’ll dae ma best,” and Jessie declared that 
Burnbrae had been as kind as if she hadLeen 
“his ain bairn,” and that she “wasna feared 
ava. ’ ’ But her trial is not over ; the worst is 
to come. 

Lachlan began where Burnbrae ended, and 
very soon had Jessie on the rack. 

“How old will you be?” 

“Auchteen next Martinmas.” 

“And why will you be coming to the Sacra- 
ment?” 

“Ma mither thocht it was time,” with a 
threatening of tears as she looked at the face 
in the corner. 

“Ye will maybe tell the Session what hass 
been your ‘lawwork’ and how long ye haf been 
at Sinai. ” 

“A’ dinna ken what yir askin’. I was never 
oot o’ Drumtochty,” and Jessie breaks down 
utterly. 

“A’ dinna think, Moderator, we ocht tae ask 
sic questions,” broke in Burnbrae, who could 
not see a little one put to confusion; “an’ I 
canna mind them in the Gospels There’s ae 
commandment Jessie keeps weel, as a’ can 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 95 


testeefy, and that’s the fifth, for there’s no a 
betterdochter in Drumtochty. A' move, Mod- 
erator, she get her token; dinna greet, puir 
woman, for ye’ve dune weel, and the Session’s 
rael satisfeed. ” 

“It wass Dr. John’s mark I wass trying the 
girl by,” explained Lachlan after Jessie had 
gone away comforted. “And it iss a goot 
mark, oh, yes! and very searching.’’ 

“Ye will maybe not know what it iss. Mod- 
erator,’’ and Lachlan regarded the minister 
with austere superiority, for it was the winter 
of the feud. 

No, he did not, nor any of the Session, 
being all douce Scotchmen, except Donald 
Menzies, who was at home fighting the devil. 

“It iss broken bones, and Dr. John did preach 
three hours upon it at Auchindarroch Fast, 
and there wass not many went to the Sacra- 
ment on that occasion. 

“Broken bones iss a fine mark to begin with, 
and the next will be doubts. But there iss a 
deeper,’’ continued Lachlan, warming to his 
subject, “oh, yes! far deeper, and I heard of it 
when I wass North for the sheep, and I will 
not be forgetting that day with Janet Macfar- 
lane. 

“I knew she wass a professor, and I wass 
looking for her marks. But it wass not for me 
to hef been searching her ; it wass that woman 
that should hef been trying me.’’ 

A profound silence wrapt the Session. 

“ ‘Janet,’ I said, ‘hef ye had many doubts?’ 

“ ‘Doubts, Lachlan? was that what you 


96 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

asked? I hef had desertions, and one will be 
for six months. ' 

“So I saw she wass far beyond me, for I 
dare not be speaking about desertions. ’ ’ 

Two minutes after the minister pronounced 
the benediction, and no one had offered any 
remark in the interval. 

It seemed to the elders that Lachlan dealt 
hardly with young people and those that had 
gone astray, but they learned one evening that 
his justice had at least no partiality. Burnbrae 
said afterward that Lachlan “looked like a 
ghaist cornin’ in at the door,’’ but he satin 
silence in the shadow, and no one marked the 
agony on his face till the end. 

“If that iss all the business, Moderator, I 
hef to bring a case of discipline before the 
Session, and ask them to do their duty. It iss 
known to me that a young woman who hass 
been a member of this church hass left her 
home and gone into the far country. There 
will be no use in summoning her to appear be- 
fore the Session, for she will never be seen 
again in this parish. I move that she be cut 
off from the roll, and her name iss’’ — and 
Lachlan’s voice broke, but in an instant he re- 
covered himself — “her name iss Flora Camp- 
bell.’’ 

Carmichael confessed to me that he was 
stricken dumb, and that Lachlan’s ashen face 
held him with an awful fascination. 

It was Burnbrae that first found a voice, and 
showed that night the fine delicacy of heart 
that may be hidden behind a plain exterior. 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 97 


“Moderator, this is a terrible calamity that 
hes befaen oor brither, and a’m feelin’ as if a' 
hed lost a bairn o’ my ane, for a sweeter lassie 
didna cross oor kirk door. Nane o’ us want 
tae know what hes happened or where she hes 
gane, and no a word o’ this wull cross oor lips. 
Her faither’s dune mair than cud be expeckit o’ 
mortal man, and noo we have oor duty. It’s 
no the way o’ this Session tae cut aff ony mem- 
ber o’ the flock at a stroke, and we ’ill no be- 
gin with Flora Campbell. A’ move. Moder- 
ator, that her case be left tae her faither and 
yersel’, and oor neebur may depend on it that 
Flora’s name and his ain will be mentioned in 
oor prayers, ilka mornin’ an’ nicht, till the 
gude Shepherd o’ the sheep brings her hame. ’’ 

Burnbrae paused, and then, with tears in his 
voice — men do not weep in Drumtochty — 
“With the Lord there is mercy, and with Him 
is plenteous redemption.’’ 

The minister took the old man’s arm and led 
him into the manse, and set him in the big 
chair by the study Are. “Thank God, Lachlan, 
we are friends now ; tell me about it as if I 
were your son and Flora’s brother.’’ 

The father took a letter out of an inner 
pocket with a trembling hand, and this is 
what Carmichael read by the light of the lamp: 

“Dear Father: When this reaches you I 
will be in London, and not worthy to cross 
your door. Do not be always angry with me, 
and try to forgive me, for you will not be 
troubled any more by my dancing or dressing. 

T Brier Bash 


98 BESIDE THE BONNlE BRIER BUSH. 

Do not think that I will be blaming you, for 
you have been a good father to me, and said 
what you would be considering right, but it is 
not easy for a man to understand a girl. Oh, 
if I had had my mother, then she would have 
understood me, and I would not have crossed 
you. Forget poor Flora’s foolishness, but you 
will not forget her, and maybe you will still 
pray for me. Take care of the geraniums for 
my sake, and give milk to the lamb that you 
called after me. I will never see you again, 
in this world or the next, nor my mother . . . 
[here the letter was much blotted]. When I 
think that there will be no one to look after 
you, and have the fire burning for you on win- 
ter nights, I will be rising to come back. But 
it is too late, too late! Oh, the disgrace I will 
be bringing on you in the glen ! 

“Your unworthy daughter, 

“Flora Campbell.” 

“This is a fiery trial, Lachlan, and I cannot 
even imagine what you are suffering. But do 
not despair, for that is not the letter of a bad 
girl. Perhaps she was impatient, and has 
been led astray. But Flora is good at heart, 
and you must not think she is gone forever. ’ ’ 

Lachlan groaned, the first moan he had 
made, and then he tottered to his feet. 

“You are fery kind, Maister Carmichael, and 
so wass Burnbrae, and I will be thankful to 
you all, but you do not understand. Oh, no! 
you do not understand.” Lachlan caught 
hold of a chair and looked the minister in the 
face. 




BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 99 


“She hassgone, and there will be no coming 
back. You would not take her name from the 
roll of the church, and I will not be meddling 
with that book. But I hef blotted out her 
name from my Bible, where her mother’s name 
iss written and mine. She has wrought confu- 
sion in Israel and in an elder’s house, and I 
.... I hef no daughter. But I loved her; 
she nefer knew how I loved her, for her mother 
would be looking at me from her eyes. “ 

The minister walked with Lachlan to the 
foot of the hill on which his cottage stood, and 
after they had shaken hands in silence, he 
watched the old man’s figure in the cold moon- 
light till he disappeared into the forsaken home, 
where the fire had gone out on the hearth, and 
neither love nor hope was waiting for a broken 
heart. 

The railway did not think it worth while to 
come to Drumtochty, and we were cut off from 
the lowlands by miles of forest, so our manners 
retained the fashion of the former age. Six 
elders, besides the minister, knew the tragedy 
of Flora Campbell, and never opened their lips. 
Mrs. MacFadyen, who was our newspaper, and 
understood her duty, refused to pry into this 
secret. The pity of the glen went out to 
Lachlan, but no one even looked a question as 
he sat alone in his pew or came down on a 
Saturday afternoon to the village shop for his 
week’s provisions. London friends thought 
me foolish about my adopted home, but I 
asked them whether they could find such per- 
fect good manners in Belgravia, and they were 


100 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

silent. My Drumtochty neighbors would have 
played an awkward part in a drawing-room, 
but never have 1 seen in all my wanderings 
men and women of truer courtesy or tenderer 
heart. 

“It gars ma hert greet tae see him,” Mrs. 
MacFadyen said to me one day, “sae booed 
an’ disjackit, him that wes that snod [tidy] and 
firm. His hair’s turned white in a month, and 
he’s awa’ tae naething in his claithes. But 
least said is sunest mended. It’s no richt tae 
interfere wi’ another’s sorrow, an’ it wad be an 
awfu’ sin tae misca’ a young lassie. We maun 
juist houp that Flora ’ll sune come back, for 
if she disna Lachlan ’ll no be lang wi’s. He’s 
sayin’ naethin,’ and a’ respeck him for’t; but 
onybody can see that his hert is .breakin’. ’’ 

We were helpless till Marget Howe met 
Lachlan in the shop and read his sorrow at a 
glance. She went home to Whinnie Knowe in 
great distress. 

“It wes waesome tae see the auld mon gith- 
erin’ his bit things wi’ a shakin’ hand, and 
speakin’ tae me aboot the weather, and a’ the 
time his eyes were sayin’, ‘Flora, Flora!’ ’’ 

“Whar div ye think the young hizzie is, 
Marget?’’ 

“Naebody needs tae know, Weelum, an’ ye 
maunna speak that way, for whatever’s come 
ower her, she’s dear to Lachlan and tae God. 

“It’s laid on me tae veesit Lachlan, for a’m 
thinking oor Father didna comfort us withoot 
expeckin’ that we wud comfort other foiik. ’’ 

When Marget came round the corner of 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 101 


Lachlan’s cottage, she found Flora’s plants 
laid out in the sun, and her father watering 
them on his knees. One was ready to die, 
and for it he had made a shelter with his plaid. 

He was taken unawares, but in a minute he 
was leading Marget in with hospitable words. 

“It iss kind of you to come to an old man’s 
house. Mistress Howe, and it iss a fery warm 
day. You will not care for speerits, but I am 
fery goot at making tea. ’ ’ 

Marget was not as other women, and she 
spoke at once. 

“Maister Campbell, ye will believe that I hev 
come in the love of God, and because we hev 
baith been afflickit. I had ae son, and he is 
gone; ye had a dochter, and she is gone. A’ 
ken where George is, and am .sateesfied. A’ 
doot sairly yir sorrow is deeper than mine.’’ 

“Would to God that she wass lying in the 
kirkyard ; but I will not speak of her. She iss 
not anything to me this day. See, I will show 
you what I hef done, for she hass been a black 
shame to her name. ’ ’ 

He opened the Bible, and there was Flora’s 
name scored with wavering strokes, but the 
ink had run as if it had been mingled with 
tears. 

Marget’s heart burned within her at the sight, 
and perhaps she could hardly make allowance 
for Lachlan’s blood and theology. 

“This is what ye hev dune, and ye let a 
woman see yir wark. Ye are an auld man, 
and in sore travail, but a’ tell ye before God 
ye hae the greater shame. Juist twenty years 


102 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

o’ age this spring, and her mither dead! Nae 
woman to watch over her, and she wandered 
frae the fold, and a’ ye can dae is to tak her 
oot o’ yir Bible. Wae’s me if oor Father had 
blotted out oor names frae the Book o’ Life 
when we left His hoose. But He sent His 
ain Son to seek us, an’ a weary road He cam. 
A’ tell ye, a man wudna leave a sheep tae per- 
ish as ye hae cast aff yir ain bairn. Yir worse 
than Simon the Pharisee, for Mary was nae kin 
tae him, Puir Flora, tae hae sic a father!” 

‘ ‘ Who will be telling you that I wass a Phari- 
see?” cried Lachlan, quivering in every limb, 
and grasping Marget’s arm. 

“Forgie me, Lachlan, forgie me! It was 
the thocht o’ the misguided lassie carried me, 
for a’ didna come tae upbraid ye. ” 

But Lachlan had sunk into a chair and had 
forgotten her. 

“She hass the word, and God will hef smit- 
ten the pride of my heart, for it iss Simon that 
I am. I wass hard on my child, and I wass 
hard on the minister, and there wass none like 
me. The Lord has laid my name in the dust, 
and I will be angry with her. But she iss the 
scapegoat for my sins, and hass gone into the 
desert. God be merciful to me a sinner!” 
And then Marget understood no more, for the 
rest was in Gaelic; but she heard Flora’s name 
with another she took to be her mother’s 
twined together. 

So Marget knew it would be well with Lach- 
lan yet, and she wrote this letter: 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 103 

“My Dear Lassie: Ye ken that I wes aye 
yir freend, and I am writing this tae say that 
yir father luves ye mair than ever, and is 
wearing oot his hert for the sicht o’ yir face. 
Come back, or he’ll dee thro’ want o’ his bairn. 
The glen is bright and bonny noo, for the pur- 
ple heather is on the hills, and doon below the 
gowden corn, wi’ bluebell and poppy flowers 
between. Naebody ’ill ask ye where ye’ve 
been, or onything else; there’s no a bairn in 
the place that’s no wearying tae see ye; and. 
Flora, lassie, if there will be sic gledness in 
oor wee glen when ye come hame, what think 
ye o’ the joy in the Father’s Hoose? Start the 
verra meenute that ye get this letter; yir 
father bids ye come, and I’m writing this in 
place o’ yir mother. 

“Marget Howe.’’ 

Marget went out to tend the flowers while 
Lachlan read the letter, and when he gave it 
back the address was written in his own hand. 

He went as far as the crest of the hill with 
Marget, and watched her on the way to the 
post-office till she was only a speck upon the 
road. 

When he entered his cottage the shadows 
were beginning to fall, and he remembered it 
would soon be night. 

“It iss in the dark that Flora will be com- 
ing, and she must know that her father iss wait- 
ing for her.’’ 

He cleaned and trimmed with anxious hand 
a lamp that was kept for show, and had never 


104 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


been used. Then he selected from his books 
Edwards’ “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry 
God,’’ and “Coles on the Divine Sovereignty, ’ ’ 
and on them he laid the large family Bible out 
of which Flora’s name had been blotted. This 
was the stand on which he sat the lamp in the 
window, and every night till Flora returned its 
light shone down the steep path that ascended 
to her home, like the Divine Love from the 
open door of our Father’s House. 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 105 


III. 

LIKE AS A FATHER. 

It was only by physical force and a free use 
of personalities that the Kildrummie passen- 
gers could be entrained at the Junction, and 
the Drumtochty men were always the last to 
capitulate. 

They watched the main-line train that had 
brought them from Muirtown disappear in 
the distance, and then broke into groups to 
discuss the cattle sale at leisure, while Peter, 
the factotum of the little Kildrummie branch, 
drove his way through their midst with offen- 
sive pieces of luggage, and abused them by 
name without respect of persons. 

“It's maist aggravatin’, Drumsheugh, ’at 
ye’ll stand there girnin’ at the prices, as if ye 
were a puir cottar body that had selt her ae 
coo, and us twal meenutes late. Man, get 
intae yer kerridge; he’ill no be fat that buys 
frae you, a’ll wager.’’ 

“Peter’s in an awfu’ feery-farry [excitement] 
the nicht, neeburs,’’ Drumsheugh would re- 
spond, after a long pause; “ye wud think 
he wes a mail gaird tae hear him speak. Mind 
ye, a'm no gain’ tae shove ahint if the engine 
sticks, for I hae na time. He needs a bit nip,” 


106 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


and Drumsheugh settles himself in his seat, 
“or else there would be nae leevin’ wi’ him.” 

Peter escaped this winged shaft, for he had 
detected a woman in the remote darkness. 

“Keep’s a’, wumman, what are ye stravagin’ 
about there for out o’ a’body’s sicht? a’ near 
set aff withoot ye.” 

Then Peter recognized her face, and his 
manner softened of a sudden. 

“Come awa’, lassie, come awa’ ; a’ didna ken 
ye at the moment, but a’ heard ye hed been 
veesitin’ in the sooth. 

“The third is terrible full wi’ thae Drum- 
tochty lads, and ye ’ill hear nae thing but 
Drumsheugh’s stirks; ye'ill maybe be as handy 
in oor second. ’ ’ And Flora Campbell stepped 
in unseen. 

Between the Junction and Kildrummie Peter 
was accustomed to wander along the footboard, 
collecting tickets and identifying passengers. 
He was generally in fine trim on the way up, 
and took ample revenge for the insults of the 
departure. But it was supposed that Peter had 
taken Drumsheugh’s withering sarcasm to 
heart, for he attached himself to the second 
that night, and was invisible to the expectant 
third till the last moment. 

“Ye’ve hed a lang journey, Miss Cammil, 
and ye maun be nearly dune wi’ tire; juist ye 
sit still till the fouk get awa’, and the guid 
wife and me would be prood if ye took a cup o’ 
tea wi’s afore ye stairted hame. A’ll come for 
ye as sune as a’ get the van emptied and ma 
little trokes f eenished. ’ ’ 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 107 


Peter hurried up to his cottage in such hot 
haste that his wife came out in great alarm. 

“Na, there’s naethin’ wrang; it’s the oppo- 
site way this nicht. Ye mind o’ Flora Cam mil 
that left her father, and nane o’ the Drum- 
tochty fouk wud say onything aboot her. 
Weel, she’s in the train, and a’ve asked her up 
tae rest, and she was gled tae come, puir thing. 
Sae gie her a couthy welcome, wumman, and 
the best in the hoose, for oors ’ill be the first 
roof she’ill be under on her way hame. ” 

Our women do not kiss one another like the 
city ladies; but the motherly grip of Mary 
Bruce’s hand sent a thrill to Flora’s heart. 

“Noo a’ ca’ this real kind o’ ye. Miss Cam- 
mil, tae come in without ceremony, and a’d be 
terrible pleased if ye would dae it ony time yer 
trai veilin’. The rail is by ordinar’ fateegin’, 
and a cup o’ tea ’ill set ye up,” and Mary had 
Flora in the best chair, and was loading her 
plate with homely dainties. 

Peter would speak of nothing but the new 
engine that was coming, and was to place the 
Kildrummie branch beyond ridicule forever, 
and on this great event he continued without 
intermission till he parted with Flora on the 
edge of the pine woods that divided Drumtochty 
from Kildrummie. 

‘‘Guid nicht tae ye. Miss Cammil, and thank 
ye again for yir veesit. Bring the auld man 
wi’ ye next time ye’re passin’, though a’m 
feared ye’ve been deived [deafened] wi’ the 
engine. ” 

Flora took Peter’s hand, that was callous and 


108 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


rough with the turning of brakes and the coup- 
ling of chains. 

“It wass not your new engine you wass think- 
ing about this night, Peter Bruce, but a poor 
girl that iss in trouble. I hef not the words, 
but I will be remembering your house; oh, 
yes ! as long as I live. ’ ’ 

Twice Peter stood on his way home ; the first 
time he slapped his leg and chuckled: 

“Sail, it was gey clever o’ me; a hale ker- 
ridge o’ Drumtochty lads, and no ane o’ them 
ever had a glint o’ her.’’ 

At the second stoppage he drew his hand 
across his eyes. 

“Puir lassie, a’ houp her father ’ill be kind 
tae her, for she’s sair broken, and looks liker 
deith than life. ’ ’ 

No one can desire a sweeter walk than 
through a Scottish pine wood in late Septem- 
ber, where you breathe the healing resinous 
air, and the ground is crisp and springy be- 
neath your feet, and gentle animals dart away 
on every side, and here and there you come on 
an open space with a pool and a brake of gorse. 
Many a time on market days Flora had gone 
singing through these woods, plucking a posy 
of wild flowers and finding a mirror in every 
pool, as young girls will ; but now she trembled 
and was afraid. The rustling of the trees in 
the darkness, the hooting of an owl, the awful 
purity of the moonlight in the glades, the cold 
sheen of the water, were to her troubled con- 
science omens of judgment. Had it not been 
for the kindness of Peter Bruce, which was a 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 109 


pledge of human forgiveness, there would have 
been no heart in her to dare that wood, and it 
was with a sob of relief she escaped from the 
shadow and looked upon the old glen once 
more, bathed from end to end in the light of 
the harvest moon. Beneath her ran our little 
river, spanned by its quaint old bridge ; away 
on the right the Parish Kirk peeped out from 
a clump of trees; halfway up the glen the 
clachan lay surrounded by patches of corn; 
and beyond were the moors, with a shepherd’s 
cottage that held her heart. Two hours ago 
squares of light told of warmth and welcome 
within; but now, as Flora passed one house 
after another, it seemed as if everyone she 
knew was dead, and she was forgotten in her 
misery. Her heart grew cold, and she longed 
to lie down and die, when she caught the gleam 
of a lighted window. Some one was living still 
to know she had repented, and she knelt down 
among the flowers with her ear to the glass to 
hear the sound of a human voice. Archie 
Moncur had come home late from a far-away 
job, but he must needs have worship with his 
sister before they went to bed, and well did he 
choose the psalm that night. Flora’s tears 
rained upon the mignonette as the two old 
people sang: 

“When Sion’s bondage God turned back, 

As men that dreamed were we, 

Then filled with laughter was our mouth, 

Our tongues with melody,” 

while the fragrance of the flowers went up as 
incense unto God. 


ilO BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH.- 


All the way along the glen the last words of 
the psalm still rang in her ears, “Rejoicing 
shall return,” but as she touched the footpath 
to her home, courage failed her. Marget had 
written for her dead mother, but no one could 
speak with authority for her father. She knew' 
the pride of his religion and his iron principles. 
If he refused her entrance, then it had been 
better for her to have died in London. A turn 
of the path brought her within sight of the cot- 
tage, and her heart came into her mouth, for 
the kitchen window was a blaze of light. One 
moment she feared Lachlan might be ill, but 
in the next she understood, and in the great- 
ness of her joy she ran the rest of the way. 
When she reached the door, her strength had 
departed, and she was not able to knock. But 
there was no need, for the dogs, who never 
forget nor cast off, were bidding her welcome 
with short joyous yelps of delight, and she 
could hear her father feeling for the latch, 
which for once could not be found, and saying 
nothing but “Flora, Flora!” 

She had made up some kind of speech, but 
the only word she ever said was “ Father, ” for 
Lachlan, who had never even kissed her all 
the days of her youth, clasped her in his arms 
and sobbed out blessings over her head, while 
the dogs licked her hands with their soft, kindly 
tongues. 

“It iss a pity you hef not the Gaelic,” Flora 
said to Marget afterward; “it iss the best of 
all languages for loving. There are fifty words 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BtJSH. Ill 


for darling, and my father would be calling me 
every one that night I came home. ’ ’ 

Lachlan was so carried with joy, and firelight 
is so hopeful, that he had not seen the signs of 
sore sickness on Flora’s face, but the morning 
light undeceived him, and he was sadly dashed. 

“You will be fery tired after your long jour- 
ney, Flora, and it iss good for you to rest. 
There iss a man in the clachan I am wanting to 
see, and he will maybe be cornin’ back with 
me. ’’ 

When Lachlan reached his place of prayer, 
he lay on the ground and cried, “Have mercy 
on me, O Lord, and spare her for thy servant’s 
sake, and let me not lose her after Thou hast 
brought her back and hast opened my heart. 

. . . Take her not till she hass seen that I 
love her. . . . Give me time to do her kind- 
ness for the past wherein I oppressed her. . . . 
O, turn away Thy judgment on my hardness, 
and let not the child suffer for her father’s 
sins.’’ Then he arose and hastened for the 
doctor. 

It was afternoon before Dr. MacLure could 
come, but the very sight of his face, which was 
as the sun in its strength, let light into the 
room where Lachlan sat at the bedside holding 
Flora’s hand, and making woeful pretense that 
she was not ill. 

“Weel, Flora, ye’ve got back frae yir veesits 
and a’ tell ye we’ve missed ye maist terrible. 
A’ doot thae sooth country fouk haena been 
feeding ye ower weel, or maybe it was the 
toon air. It never agrees wi’ me. A’m half- 


112 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

chokit a’ the time a’m in Glesgie, and as for 
London, there’s ower mony fouk tae the square 
yaird for health. ’ ’ 

All the time he was busy at his work, and no 
man could do it better or quicker, although the 
outside of him was not encouraging. 

“Lachlan, what are ye trai veilin’ in and oot 
there for with a face that wud sour milk? What 
ails ye, man? ye’re surely no imaginin’ Flora’s 
gaein’ to leave you? 

“Lord’s sake, it’s maist provokin’ that if a 
body hes a bit whup o’ illness in Drumtochty, 
their friends tak tae propheseein’ deith. ’’ 

Lachlan had crept over to Flora’s side, and 
both were waiting. 

“Na, na; ye ken a’ never tell lees like the 
graund ceety doctors, and a’ll warrant Flora 
’ill be in kirk afore Martinmas, and kiltin’ up 
the braes as hardy as a hielan’ sheltie by the 
new year. ’’ 

Flora puts an arm round her father’s neck, 
and draws down his face to hers, but the doc- 
tor is looking another way. 

“Dinna fash wi’ medicine; gie her plenty o’ 
fresh milk and plenty o’ air. There’s nae lee- 
vin, for a doctor wi’ that Drumtochty air; it 
hasna a marra in Scotland. It starts frae the 
Moray Firth and sweeps doon Badenoch, and 
comes ower the moor o’ Rannoch and across 
the Grampians. There’s the salt o’ the sea, 
and the caller air o’ the hills, and the smell o’ 
the heather, and the bloom o’ mony a flower 
in’t. If there’s nae disease in the organs o’ 



riie kitchen window was a blaze of light.” — Page 110. 

Ik-.sicli; tlie Bonnie Brier Busli. 




BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 113 


the body, a puff o’ Drumtochty air wud bring 
back a man frae the gates o’ deith. ” 

“You hef made two hearts glad this day. Dr. 
MacLure, ’’ said Lachlan, outside the door, 
“and I am calling you Barnabas.” 

“Ye’ve ca’d me waur names than that in yir 
time,” and the doctor mounted his horse. “It’s 
dune me a warld o’ guid tae see Flora in her 
hame again, and I’ll gie Marget Howe a cry in 
passin’ and send her up tae hae a crack, for 
there’s no a wiser wumman in the glen.” 

When Marget came. Flora told her the his- 
tory of her letter. 

“It wass a beautiful night in London, but I 
will be thinking that there iss no living person 
caring whether I die or live, and I wass con- 
sidering how I could die, for there iss nothing 
so hopeless as to hef no friend in a great city. 
It iss often that I hef been alone on the moor, 
and no man within miles, but I wass never 
lonely ; oh, no ! I had plenty of good company. 
I would sit down beside a burn, and the trout 
will swim out from below a stone, and the cat- 
tle will come to drink, and the muirfowl will 
be crying to each other, and the sheep will be 
bleating, oh, yes! and there are the bees all 
round, and a string of wild ducks above your 
head. It iss a busy place, a moor; and a safe 
place, too, for there iss not one of the animals 
will hurt you. No, the big highlanders will 
only look at you and go away to their pasture. 
But it iss weary to be in London and no one 
to speak a kind word to you, and I will be 
looking at the crowd that iss always passing, 

8 Brier Bush 


114 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

and I will not see one kent face, and when I 
looked in at the lighted windows the people 
were all sitting round the table, but there wass 
no place for me. Millions and millions of 
people, and not one to say ‘ Flora, ’ and not one 
sore heart if I died that night. Then a strange 
thing happened, as you will be considering, but 
it iss good to be a Highlander, for we see vis- 
ions. You maybe know that a wounded deer 
will try to hide herself, and I crept into the 
shadow of a church, and wept. Then the peo- 
ple and the noise and the houses passed away . 
like the mist on the hill, and I wass walking to 
the kirk with my father, oh, yes ! and I saw you 
all in your places, and I heard the Psalms, and 
I could see through the window the green 
fields and the trees on the edge of the moor. 
And 1 saw my home, with the dogs before the 
door, and the flowers that I planted, and the 
lamb coming for her milk, and I heard myself 
singing, and I awoke. But there wass sing- 
ing, oh, yes! and beautiful, too, for the 
dark church was open, and the light wass fall- 
ing over my head from the face of the Virgin 
Mary. When I arose she wass looking down 
at me in the darkness, and then I knew that 
there wass service in the church, and this wass 
the hymn : 

“ ‘There is a fountain filled with blood.’ 

“So I went in and sat down at the door. The 
sermon wass on the Prodigal Son, but there 
iss only one word I remember. ‘You are not 
forgotten or cast off,’ the preacher said; ‘you 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 115 


are missed,’ and then he will come back to it 
again, and it wass always ‘missed, missed, 
missed.’ Sometime he will say, ‘If you had 
a plant, and you had taken great care of it, 
and it wass stolen, would you not miss it?’ 
And I will be thinking of my geraniums, and 
saying, ‘yes’ in my heart. And then he will 
go on, ‘If a shepherd wass counting his sheep, 
and there wass one short, does he not go out to 
the hill and seek for it?’ and I will see my 
father coming back with that lamb that lost its 
mother. My heart wass melting within me, 
but he will still be pleading, ‘If a father had a 
child, and she left her home and lost herself in 
the wicked city, she will still be remembered 
in the old house, and her chair will be there, ’ 
and I will be seeing my father all alone with 
the Bible before him, and the dogs will lay 
their heads on his knee, but there iss no Flora. 
So I slipped out into the darkness and cried, 
‘Father!’ but I could not go back, and I knew 
not what to do. But this wass ever in my ear, 
‘missed,’ and I wass wondering if God will be 
thinking of me. ‘Perhaps there may be a 
sign,’ I said, and I went to my room, and I 
saw the letter. It wass not long before I will 
be in the train, and all the night I held your 
letter in my hand, and when I wass afraid I 
will read, ‘Your father loves you more than 
efer,’ and I will say, ‘This is my warrant’ 
Oh, yes ! and God wass fery good to me, and I 
did not want for friends all the way home. 

“The English guard noticed me cry, and he 
will take care of me all the night, and see me 


116 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

off at Muirtown, and this iss what he will say 
as the train wass leaving, in his cheery English 
way, ‘Keep up your heart, lass, there’s a good 
time coming, ’ and Peter Bruce will be waiting 
for me at the Junction, and a gentle man iss 
Peter Bruce, and Maister Moncur will be sing- 
ing a psalm to keep up my heart, and I will see 
the light, and then I will know that the Lord 
hass had mercy upon me. That iss all I have 
to tell you, Marget, for the rest I will be say- 
ing to God. ’ ’ 

“But there iss something I must be telling,’’ 
said Lachlan, coming in, “and it iss not easy.’’ 

He brought over the Bible and opened it at 
the family register where his daughter’s name 
had been erased ; then he laid it down before 
Flora, and bowed his head on the bed. 

“Will you ever be able to forgive your 
father?” 

“Give me the pen, Marget,’’ and Flora wrote 
for a minute, but Lachlan never moved. 

When he lifted his head, this was what he 
read in a vacant space : 

Flora Campbell, 

Missed, April, 1873. 

Found, September, 1873. 

“Her father fell on her neck and kissed her.” 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 117 


IV. 

AS A LITTLE CHILD. 

Drumtochty made up its mind slowly upon 
any newcomer, and for some time looked into 
the far distance when his name was mentioned. 
He himself was struck with the studied indif- 
ference of the parish, and lived under the de- 
lusion that he had escaped notice. Perhaps he 
might have felt uncomfortable if he had sus- 
pected that he was under a microscope, and the 
keenest eyes in the country were watching 
every movement at kirk and market. His 
knowledge of theology, his preference in arti- 
ficial manures, his wife’s Sabbath dress, his 
skill in cattle, and his manner in the Kildrum- 
mie train, went as evidence in the case, and 
were duly weighed. Some morning the float- 
ing opinion suddenly crystallized in the kirk- 
yard, and there is only one historical instance 
in which judgment was reversed. It was a 
strong proof of Lachlan Campbell’s individu- 
ality that he impressed himself twice on the 
parish, and each time with a marked adjective. 

Lachlan had been superintending the theol- 
ogy of the glen and correcting our ignorance 
from an unapproachable height for two years 
before the word went forth, but the glen had 
been thinking. 


118 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


“Lachlan is a carefu’ shepherd and fine wi" 
‘the ewes at the lambing time, there’s nae doot 
o’ that, but a’ canna thole [bear] himsel’. Ye 
wud think there was nae releegion in the pair- 
ish till he cam’ frae Auchindarroch. What say 
ye, Domsie?’’ 

“Campbell’s a censorious body, Drums- 
heugh, ’’ and Domsie shut his snuff-box lid 
with a snap. 

Drumsheugh nodded to the fathers of our 
commonwealth, and they went into kirk with 
silent satisfaction. Lachlan had been classi- 
fied, and Peter Bruce, who prided himself on 
keeping in touch with Drumtochty, passed the 
word round the Kildrummie train next market 
night. 

“Ye haena that censorious body, Lachlan 
Campbell wi’ ye the nicht, ’’ thrusting his head 
in on the thirds. 

“There’s naething Peter disna ken,’’ Hil- 
locks remarked with admiration afterward; 
“he’s as gude as the ‘Advertiser.’ ’’ 

When Flora had come home, and Drum- 
tochty resumed freedom of criticism, I noticed 
for the first time a certain vacillation in its 
treatment of Lachlan. 

“He’s pluckit up his speerit maist extraor- 
dinar, ’’ Hillocks explained, “and he whuppit 
by me like a three-year- auld laist Sabbath. 

“ ‘I’m gled tae hear the Miss is cornin’ roond 
fine, ’ says 1. 

“ ‘It’s the fouk of Drumtochty hes made her 
week God bless you, for you hev done good 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 119 


for evil,’ and wi’ that he was aff afore I cud 
fin’ a word. 

“He’s changed, the body, some wy or ither, 
and there’s a kind o’ warmth aboot him ye 
canna get ower. ’’ 

Next day I turned into Mrs. MacFadyen’s 
cottage for a cup of tea, and the smack of that 
wise woman’s conversation, but was not able 
to pass the inner door for the sight which met 
my eyes. 

Lachlan was sitting on a chair in the middle 
of the kitchen with Elsie, Mrs. Macfadyen’s 
pet child, on his knee, and their heads so close 
together that his white hair was mingling with 
her burnished gold. An odor of peppermint 
floated out at the door, and Elsie was explain- 
ing to Lachlan, for his guidance at the shop, 
that the round drops were a better bargain 
than the black and white rock. 

When Lachlan had departed, with gracious 
words on his lips and a very stick)^ imprint on 
his right cheek, I settled down in the big chair, 
beyond the power of speech, and Mrs. MacFad- 
yen opened the mystery. 

“Ye may weel look, for twa month syne I 
wudna hae believed this day, though a’ hed 
seen him wi’ ma ain een. 

“ It was juist this time laistyear that he cam’ 
here on his elder’s veesitation, and he catches 
the bairn in this verra kitchen. 

“ ‘Elspeth, ’ says he — it was Elsie that day, 
ye mind — ‘div ye ken that ye’re an oreeginal 
sinner?’ 

“ It was nichtfa’ afore she got ower the fricht. 


120 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

and when she saw him on the road next Sab- 
bath, she cooried in ahint ma goon, and cried 
till I thocht her hert wud break. 

“ ‘ It’s meeserable wark for Christ’s Elder,’ 
says Jeems, ‘tae put the fear o’ death on a 
bairn, and a’m thinkin’ he wudna get muckle 
thanks frae his Maister, if He wes here, ’ and 
Jeems wasna far wrong, though, of course, a’ 
told him tae keep a quiet sough, and no conter 
the elder. 

“Weel, I sees Lachlan cornin’ up the road 
the day, and a’ ran oot to catch Elsie and hide 
her in the byre. But a’ micht hae saved mysel’ 
the trouble: afore I got tae the gairden gate 
they were cornin’ up as chief [friendly] as ye 
like, and Lachlan wes callin’ Elsie his bonnie 
dawtie. 

“If he hadna a pock o’ peppermints — but it 
wasna that wiled Elsie’s hert. Na, na; dogs, 
and bairns can read fouks’ faces, and mak 
nae mistakes. As sune as a’ saw Lachlan’s een 
a’ kent he wes a new man. 

“Hoohas it come about? That’s easy tae 
guess. Sax months syne Lachlan didna ken 
what father meant, and the hert wes wizened 
in the breist o’ him wi’ pride an’ diveenity. 

“He kens noo, and a’m jalousing that nae 
man can be a richt father tae his ain without 
being sib [akin] tae every bairn he sees. It 
was Flora he wes dawting [petting] ye see the 
day, and he’s learned his trade weel, though it 
cost him a sair lesson. ’’ 

Wonderful stories circulated through the 
glen, and were told in the kirkyard of a Sab- 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 121 


bath morning, concerning the transformation 
of Lachlan Campbell. 

“Ane o’ ma wee lassies,” expatiated Dom- 
sie, ‘‘fell cornin’ doon the near road frae Whin- 
nie Knowe, and cuttit her cheek on the stones, 
and if Lachlan didna wash her face and com- 
fort her; an’ mair, he -carried her a’ the road 
tae the schule, and says he in his Hieland way, 
‘Here iss a brave little woman that hass hurt 
herself, but she will not be crying,’ and he 
gave her a kiss and a penny tae buy some 
sweeties at the shop. It minded me o’ the 
Gude Samaritan, fouks, ” and everybody un- 
derstood that Lachlan had captured Domsie 
for life. 

‘‘It beats a’ things,” said Whinnie; ‘‘a’ can- 
na mak’ oot what’s come ower the cratur. 
There’s a puckle o’ the upland bairns pass oor 
wy frae schule, and whiles Lachlan ’ill meet 
them when he’s aifter his sheep, and as sure 
as a’m stannin’ here, he’ll lay aff stories aboot 
battles and fairies, till the laddies ’ill hardly 
gae hame. I wes tellin’ Marget this verra 
mornin’, and she says, ‘Lachlan’s become as a 
little child. ’ I dinna hand wi’ her there, but a 
quieter, mair cautious body ye never saw.” 

Drumtochty was doing its best to focus Lach- 
lan afresh, and felt the responsibility lay on 
Domsie, who accepted it cheerfully. 

‘‘Marget’s aye richt, neeburs, and she’s put 
the word on it noo. His tribble hes melted 
Lachlan’s hert, an’ — it’s in the Evangel, ye 
ken — he’s become as a little child.” 

This language was too figurative and impos- 


122 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


ing for the parish, but it ran henceforward in 
our modest speech, “He's a cautious body.” 
Cautious, with us, meant unassuming, kindly, 
obliging, as well as much more; and I still 
hear Drumsheugh pronouncing its final judg- 
ment of the glen on Lachlan as we parted at 
his grave ten years later, and adding, “He’ill 
be sair missed by the bairns. ’ ’ 

While the glen was readjusting itself to 
Lachlan, I came down from a long tramp on 
the moor, and intended to inquire for Flora. 
But I was arrested on the step by the sound of 
Lachlan’s voice in family worship. 

“ ‘This my son was dead, and is alive again; 
he was lost, and is found. And they began to 
be merry.' ’’ 

Lachlan’s voice trembled as he read, but he 
went on with much firmness : 

“ ‘Now his elder son was in the field.’ ’’ 

“You will not be reading more of that chap- 
ter, father,” interrupted Flora, with a new note 
of authority. 

“And why not?” said Lachlan, quite humbly. 

“Because you will be calling yourself the 
elder son and many more bad names, and I 
will be angry with you. ’ ’ 

“But they are true names, and it iss good 
for me to know myself.” 

“You hef just one true name, and that is 
father, . . . And now you will be singing a 
psalm. ’ ' 

“There iss a book of himes [hymns] here, 
and maybe you will be liking one of them. ” 

And Lachlan produced the little book Flora 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 123 


got in that London church when the preacher 
told her she was missed. 

“We will not sing hymns, father, for I am 
remembering that you hef a conscience against 
hymns, and I did not know that you had that 
book. ’ ’ 

“My conscience wass sometimes better than 
the Bible, Flora, and if God will be sending a 
hime to bind up your heart when it wass 
broken, it iss your father that will be wanting 
to sing that hime. 

“It iss here, ’’ continued Lachlan in triumph, 
“for I hef often been reading that hime, and 
I am not seeing much wrong in it. ’’ 

“But each hymn hass got its own tune, 
father, and you will not know the way that it 
goes, and the doctor will not be wishing me to 
sing.” 

“You are a good girl. Flora, but you are not 
so clever as your father ; oh, no ! for I hef been 
trying that hime on the hill, and it will sing 
beautiful to a Psalm tune. You will lie still 
and hear. ’ ’ 

Then Lachlan lifted up his voice in 

“French” : 

“There is a fountain filled with blood, 

Drawn from Immanuel’s veins, 

And sinners plunged beneath that flood 
Lose all their guilty stains.” 

The singing was fairly good, with a whisper 
from Flora, till they came to that verse : 

“Then in a nobler, sweeter song 
I’ll sing Thy power to save. 

When this poor lisping, stammering tongue 
Lies silent in the grave,” 


124 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


when Lachlan seemed to lose the tune, and be 
falling into a coronach. 

“Wemustnotbe singing that to-day, father, 
for God iss fery good to us, and I will be 
stronger every week, and maybe you will be 
saying that we are thankful in your prayer. ’ ’ 

Then I realized my baseness, and went off 
on tiptoe (had the dogs been at home it had 
not been so easy to escape) ; but first I heard, 
“Our Father.” It was a new word for Lach- 
lan; he used to say Jehovah. 

The doctor paid his last visit one frosty win- 
ter day, and was merciless on Lachlan. 

“What for are ye cockering up this lassie, 
and no getting her doon tae the kirk? It’s 
clean disgracefu’ in an Elder, and if I were yir 
minister a’wud hae ye sessioned. Sail, ye’re 
hard enough on ither fouk that are no kirk 
greedy. ’ ’ 

“You will not be speaking that way next Sab- 
bath, for it iss in her pew Flora will be sitting 
with her father,” said Lachlan, in great 
spirits. 

Flora caught him studying her closely for 
some days, as if he were taking her measure, 
and he announced that he had business in 
Muirtown on Friday. 

When he came up in the market train he 
was carrying a large paper parcel, and 
attempted a joke with Peter at a window of 
the third. From a critical point of view it was 
beneath notice, but as Lachlan’s first effort it 
was much tasted. 

“Ye’ill believe me noo, Peter, since ye’ve 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 125 


heard him. Did ye ever see sic a change? It’s 
maist astonishin’.” 

“Man, Hillocks, div ye no see he’s gotten 
back his dochter, and it’s made him anither 
man?” 

Lachlan showed Flora a new pair of shears 
he had bought in Muirtown, and a bottle of 
sheep embrocation, but she did not know he 
had hidden his parcel in the byre, and that he 
opened it four separate times on .Saturday. 

From daybreak on Sabbath Lachlan went in 
and out till he returned with Marget Howe. 

“Mrs. Howe iss very kind, and she will be 
coming to help you with your dresses. Flora, 
for we will be wanting you to look well this 
day, and here iss some small thing to keep you 
warm,’’ and Lachlan produced with unspeak- 
able pride a jacket lined with flannel and trim- 
med with fur. 

So her father and Marget dressed Flora for 
the kirk, and they went together down the path 
on which the light had shone that night of her 
return. 

There were only two dog-carts in the Free 
Kirk Session, and Burnbrae was waiting with 
his for Flora at the foot of the hill. 

“I bid ye welcome. Flora, in the name o’ oor 
kirk. It’s a gled day for your father, and for 
us a’ tae see you back again and strong. And 
noo ye ’ill just get up aside me in the front, 
and Mistress Hoo ’ill hap ye round, for we 
maunna let ye come to ony ill the first day yir 
oot, or we’ill never hear the end o’t. ’’ And 


126 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


SO the honest man went on, for he was as near 
the breaking as Drumtochty nature allowed. 

“A’body’s pleased,” said Marget to Lachlan 
as they sat on the back seat and caught the 
faces of the people. ‘‘This is the first time I 
have seen the fifteenth of Luke in Drum- 
tochty. It’s a bonnie sicht, and a’m thinkin’ 
it’s still bonnier in the presence o’ the angels.” 

“Flora Cammil’s in the kirk the day,” and 
the precentor looked at Carmichael with expec- 
tation. “The fouk are terrible taen up wi’ 
Lachlan and her. ’ ’ 

“What do you think of the Hundred and 
third Psalm, Robert? It would go well this 
morning. ’ ’ 

“The verra word that was on my lips, and 
Lachlan ’ill be lookin’ for Coleshill. ” 

Lachlan had put Flora in his old place next 
the wall (for he would not need it again, hav- 
ing retired from the office of inquisitor), and 
sat close beside her, with great contentment 
on his face. The manners of Drumtochty 
were perfect, and no one turned his head by 
one inch; but Marget Howe, sitting behind in 
Burnbrae’s pew, saw Flora’s hand go out to 
Lachlan’s as the people sang: 

“All thine iniquities who doth 
Most graciously forgive, 

Who thy diseases all and pains 
Doth heal and thee relieve.” 

The Session met that week, and a young girl 
broke down utterly in her examination for the 
Sacrament, so that not even Burnbrae could 
get a correct answer. 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 127 


She rose in great confusion and sorrow. 

“A' see it wudna be fit for the like o’ me tae 
gae forrit, but a’ had set ma hert on’t; it wes 
the last thing He askit o’ His freends, ” and she 
left before any one could bid her stay. 

“Moderator,” said Lachlan, “it iss a great 
joy for me to move that Mary Macfarlane get 
her token, and I will be wishing that we all 
had her warrant, oh, yes ! for there iss no war- 
rant like love. And there is something that I 
must be asking of the elders, and it is to for- 
give me for my pride in this Session. I wass 
thinking that I knew more than any man in 
Drumtochty, and wass judging God’s people. 
But He hass had mercy upon Simon the Phar- 
isee, and you hef all been very good to me and 
Flora. . . . The Scripture hass been fulfilled, 
‘So the last shall be first, and the first last.’ ” 

Then the minister asked Burnbrae to pray, 
and the Spirit descended on that good man, of 
simple heart: 

“Almichty Father, we are a’ Thy puir and 
sinfu’ bairns, wha wearied o’ hame and gaed 
awa’ intae the far country. Forgive us, for 
we didna ken what we were leavin’ or the sair 
hert we gied oor Father. It wes weary wark 
tae live wi’ oor sins, but we wud never hev 
come back had it no been for oor Elder Brither. 
He cam’ a long road tae find us, and a sore 
travail He had afore He set us free. He’s been 
a glide Brither tae us, and we’ve been a heavy 
chairge tae Him. May He keep a firm hand 
o’ us, and guide us in the richt road and bring 
us back gin we wander, and tell us a’ we need 


128 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


tae know till the gloamin’ come. Gither us in 
then, we pray Thee, and a’ we luve, no a bairn 
missin’, and may we sit doon for ever in oor 
ain Father’s House. Amen.” 

As Burnbrae said Amen, Carmichael opened 
his eyes, and had a vision which will remain 
with him until the day break and the shadows 
flee away. 

The six elders — three small farmers, a tailor, 
a stonemason, and a shepherd — were standing 
beneath the lamp, and the light fell like a halo 
on their bent heads. That poor little vestry 
had disappeared, and this present world was 
forgotten. The sons of God had come into 
their heritage, “for the things which are seen 
are temporal, but the things which are not seen 
are eternal.” 


THE CUNNING SPEECH OF 
DRUMTOCHTY. 


Speech in Drumtochty distilled slowly, drop 
by drop, and the faces of our men were carved 
in stone. Visitors, without discernment, used 
to pity our dullness and lay themselves out for 
missionar}^’ work. Before their month was over 
they spoke bitterly of us, as if we had deceived 
them, and departed with a grudge in their 
hearts. When Hillocks scandalized the Glen 
by letting his house and living in the bothie, 
— through sheer greed of money, — it was taken 
by a fussy little man from the South, whose 
control over the letter “h” was uncertain, but 
whose self-confidence bordered on the miracu- 
lous. As a deacon of the Social Religionists, 
— a new denomination, which had made an ’it 
with Sunday Entertainments, — and Chairman 
of the Amalgamated Sons of Rest, — a society 
of persons with conscientious objections to work 
between meals, — he was horrified at the pri- 
meval simplicity of the Glen, where no meeting 
of protest had been held in the memory of liv- 
ing man, and the ministers preached from the 
Bible. It was understood that he was to do 
his best for us, and there was curiosity in the 
kirkyard. 

9 Brier Bush 


129 


130 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

“Whatna like man is that English veesitor 
ye’ve got, Hillocks? a’ hear he’s fleein’ ower 
the Glen, yammerin’ and haverin’ like a 
startlin'. ” 

“He’s a gabby [talkative] body, Drums- 
heugh, there’s nae doot o’ that, but terrible 
ignorant. 

“Says he tae me nae later than yesterday, 
‘That’s a fine field o’ barley ye’ve there, Mais- 
ter Harris,’ an’ as sure as deith a’ didna ken 
whaur tae luik, for it was a puckle aits.’’ 

“Keep’s a’,’’ said Whinnie; “he’s been awfu’ 
negleckit when he was a bairn, or maybe 
there’s a want in the puir cratur. ’’ 

Next Sabbath Mr. Urijah Hopps appeared 
in person among the fathers — who looked at 
each other over his head — and enlightened them 
on supply and demand, the Game Laws, the 
production of cabbages for towns, the iniquity 
of an Established Church, and the bad metre 
of the Psalms of David. 

“You must ’ave henterprise, or it’s hall hup 
with you farmers. ’ ’ 

“Ay, ay,’’ responded Drumsheugh, after a 
long pause, and then every man concentrated 
his attention on the belfry of the kirk. 

“Is there onything ava’ in the body, think 
ye, Domsie,’’ as Mr. Hopps bustled into kirk, 
“or is’t a’ wind?’’ 

“Three wechtfu’s o’ naething, Drumsheugh; 

peety the puir man if Jamie Soutar gets a 
hand o’ him.” 

Jamie was the cynic of the Glen — who had 
pricked many a wing bag — and there was a 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 131 


general feeling that his meeting with Mr. 
Hopps would not be devoid of interest. When 
he showed himself anxious to learn next Sab- 
bath, any man outside Drumtochty might have 
been deceived, for J amie could withdraw every 
sign of intelligence from his face, as when 
shutters close upon a shop window. Our vis- 
itor fell at once into the trap, and made things 
plain to the meanest capacity, until Jamie 
elicited from the guileless Southron that he had 
never heard of the Act of Union; that Adam 
Smith was a new book he hoped to buy; that 
he did not know the difference between an 
Arminian and a Calvinist, and that he supposed 
the Confession of Faith was invented in Edin- 
burgh. This in the briefest space of time, 
and by way of information to Drumtochty. 
James was making for general literature, and 
had still agriculture in reserve, when Drums- 
heugh intervented in the humanity of his 
heart : 

“A’ dinna like tae interrupt yir conversa- 
tion, Maister Hopps, but it’s no verra safe for 
ye tae be stannin’ here sae lang. Oor air hes 
a bit nip in’t, and is mair searchin’ than doon 
Sooth. Jamie ’ill be speirin’ a’ mornin’ gin 
ye’ill answer him, but a’m thinkin’ ye ’ill be 
warmer in the kirk.” 

And Drumsheugh escorted Mr. Hopps to 
cover, who began to suspect that he had been 
turned inside out, and found wanting. 

Drumtochty had listened with huge delight, 
but without a trace of expression, and, on Mr. 


132 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


Hopps reaching shelter, three boxes were 
offered Jamie. 

The group was still lost in admiration when 
Drumsheugh returned from his errand of 
mercy. 

“Sail, ye’ve dune the job this time, Jamie. 
Ye’re an awfu’ creetic. Yon man ’ill keep a 
quiet cheep till he gets Sooth. It passes me 
hoo a body wi’ sae little in him hes the face 
tae open his mooth. ” 

“Ye did it weel, Jamie,’’ Domsie added, “a 
clean furrow frae end tae end.” 

“Toots, fouk, yir makin’ ower muckle o’ it. 
It weslicht grund, no worth puttin’ in a ploo. ’’ 

Mr. Hopps explained to me, before leaving, 
that he had been much pleased with the scen- 
ery of our Glen but disappointed in the people. 

“They may not be hignorant, ” said the little 
man doubtfully, “but no man could call them 
half able. ” 

It flashed on me for the first time that per- 
haps there may have been the faintest want of 
geniality in the Drumtochty manner, but it 
was simply the reticence of a subtle and con- 
scientious people. Intellect with us had been 
brought to so fine an edge by the Shorter Cat- 
echism that it could detect endless distinctions, 
and was ever on the watch against inaccuracy. 
Farmers who could state the esoteric doctrine 
of “spiritual independence” between the stilts 
of the plough, and talked familiarly of 
“co-ordinate jurisdiction with mutual subordi- 
nation,” were not likely to fall into the vice of 
generalization. When James Soutar was im 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 133 

good fettle, he could trace the whole history of 
Scottish secession from the beginning, wind- 
ing his way through the maze of Original 
Seceders and Cameronians, Burghers and Anti- 
Burghers — there were days when he would 
include the Glassites — with unfaltering step; 
but this was considered a feat even in Drum- 
tochty, and it was admitted that Jamie had “a 
gift o’ discreemination. ” We all had the gift 
in measure, and dared not therefore allow our- 
selves the expansive language of the South. 
What right had any human being to fling about 
superlative adjectives, seeing what a big place 
the world is, and how little we know? Purple 
adjectives would have been as much out of 
place in our conversation as a bird of paradise 
among our muirfowl. 

Mr. Hopps was so inspired by one of our sun- 
sets — to his credit let that be told — that he 
tried to drive Jamie into extravagance. 

“ ‘No bad!’ I call it glorious, and if it hisn’t, 
then I’d like to know what his.” 

“Man,” replied Soutar austerely, “ye’ill 
surely keep ae word for the twenty-first o’ 
Reevelation. ’ ’ 

Had any native used “magnificent,” there 
would have been an uneasy feeling in the 
Glen ; the man must be suffering from wind in 
the head, and might upset the rotation of crops, 
sowing his young grass after potatoes, or 
replacing turnip with beetroot. But nothing 
of that sort happened in my time; we kept our- 
selves well in hand. It rained in torrents else- 
where, with us it only “threatened tae be weet” 


134 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

— some provision had to be made for the deluge. 
Strangers, in the pride of health, described 
themselves as “fit for anything,” but Hillocks, 
who died at ninety-two, and never had an 
hour’s illness, did not venture, in his prime, 
beyond “Gaein’ aboot, a’m thankfu’ to say, 
gaein’ aboot.” 

When one was seriously ill, he was said to be 
“gey an’ sober,” and no one died in Drum- 
tochty — “he slippit awa. ” 

Hell and heaven were pulpit words; in pri- 
vate life we spoke of “the ill place” and “oor 
langhame.” 

When the corn sprouted in stooks one late 
wet harvest, and Burnbrae lost half his capital, 
he only said, “It’s no lichtsome,” and no con- 
gratulations on a good harvest ever extracted 
more from Drumsheugh than “A’ daurna com- 
plain. ” 

Drumsheugh might be led beyond bounds in 
reviewing a certain potato transaction, but, 
as a rule, he was a master of measured speech. 
After the privilege of much intercourse with 
that excellent man, I was able to draw up his 
table of equivalents for the three degrees of 
wickedness. Where there was just a suspicion 
of trickiness — neglecting the paling between 
your cattle and your neighbor’s clover field — 
“He’s no juist the man for an elder.” If it 
deepened into deceit — running a “greasy” 
horse for an hour before selling — “He wud be 
better o’ anither dip.” And in the case of 
downright fraud — finding out what a man had 
offered for his farm and taking it over his 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 135 


head — the offender was “an ill gettit wratch.” 
The two latter phrases were dark with the- 
ology, and even the positive degree of con- 
demnation had an ecclesiastical flavor. 

When Drumsheugh approved any one, he was 
content to say, “He micht be waur,” a position 
beyond argument. On occasion he ventured 
upon bolder assertions: “There’s nae mis- 
chief in Domsie;” and once I heard him in a 
white heat of enthusiasm pronounce Dr. David- 
son, our parish minister, “A graund man ony 
wy ye tak him.” But he seemed ashamed 
after this outburst, and “shooed” the crows 
off the corn with needless vigor. 

No Drumtochty man would commit himself 
to a positive statement on any subject if he 
could find a way of escape, not because his 
mind was confused, but because he was usually 
in despair for an accurate expression. It was 
told for years in the Glen, with much relish 
and almost funereal solemnity, how a Drum- 
tochty witness held his own in an ecclesiastical 
court. 

“It’s a fac’,” after a long pause and a care- 
ful review of the whole situation. 

“You remember that Sabbath when the min- 
ister of Netheraird preached.” 

“Weel, a’ll admit that,” making a conces- 
sion to justice". 

“Did ye see him in the vestry?” 

“A’ canna deny it. ” 

“Was he intoxicated?” 

The crudeness of this question took away 
Drumtochty ’s breath, and suggested that some- 


136 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

thing must have been left out in the creation 
of that advocate. Our men were not bigoted 
abstainers, but I never heard any word so 
coarse and elementary as intoxicated used in 
Drumtochty. Conversation touched this kind 
of circumstance with delicacy and caution, for 
we keenly realized the limitations of human 
knowledge. 

“He hed his mornin’,” served all ordinary 
purposes, and in cases of emergency, such as 
Muirtown market: 

“Ye cud see he hed been tastin’. “ 

When an advocate forgot himself so far as to 
say intoxicated, a Drumtochty man might be 
excused for being upset. 

“Losh, man,’’ when he had recovered, “hoo 
cud ony richt-thinkin’ man sweer tae sic an 
awfu’ word? Na, na; a’ daurna use that kin’ 
o’ langidge; it’s no cannie. ’’ 

The advocate tried again, a humbler, wiser 
man. 

“Was there a smell of drink on him?’’ 

“Noo, since ye press me, a’ll juist tell ye the 
hale truth; it wes doonricht stupid o’ me, but, 
as sure as a’m livin’, a’ clean forgot to try 
him. ’’ 

Then the chastened council gathered himself 
up for his last effort. 

“Will you answer one question, sir? you 
are on your oath. Did you see anything un- 
usual in Mr. MacOmish’s walk? Did he stag- 
ger?’’ 

“Na, ’’ when he had spent two minutes in 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 137 

recalling the scene. “Na, I cudna say stag- 
ger, but he micht gie a bit trimmil. ” 

“We are coming to the truth now; what did 
you consider the cause of the trimmiling, as 
you call it?” and the innocent young advocate 
looked round in triumph. 

“ Weel, ” replied Drumtochty, making a clean 
breast of it, “since ye maun hae it, a’ heard 
that he wes a very learned man, and it cam’ 
intae ma mind that the Hebrew, which, a’m 
telt, is a very contrairy langidge, had gaen 
doon and settled in his legs. ” 

The parish of Netheraird was declared va- 
cant, but it was understood that the beadle of 
Pitscourie had not contributed to this decis- 
ion. 

His own parish followed the trial with in- 
tense interest, and were much pleased with 
Andra’s appearance. 

“Sail,” said Hillocks, “Andra has mair 
gumption than ye wud think, and yon advocat 
didna mak muckle o’ him. Na, na ; Andra wesna 
brocht up in the Glen for naethin’. Maister 
MacOmish may hae taen his gless atween 
the Hebrew and the Greek, and it’s no verra 
suitable for a minister, but that’s anither thing 
frae bein’ intoxicat. ” 

“Keep’s a’, if ye were tae pit me in the box 
this meenut, a’ cudna sweer a’ hed ever seen a 
man intoxicat in ma life, except a puir body o’ 
an English bag-man at Muirtown Station. A’ 
doot he hed bin meddlin’ wi’ speerits, and they 
were wheelin’ him tae his kerridge in a lug- 
gage-barrow. It wes a fearsome sicht, and 


138 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


eneugh tae keep ony man frae speakin’ aboot 
intoxicat in yon loose wy. ” 

Archie Moncur fought the drinking customs 
of the Glen night and day with moderate suc- 
cess, and one winter’s night he gave me a study 
in his subject which, after the lapse of years, 
I still think admirable for its reserve power 
and Dantesque conclusion. 

“They a’ begin in a sma’ wy, ’’ explained 
Archie, almost hidden in the depths of my 
reading chair, and emphasizing his points with 
a gentle motion of his right hand; “naethin’ 
tae mention at first, juist a gless at an orra 
time — a beerial or a merridge — and maybe 
New Year. That’s the first stage ; they ca’ that 
moderation. After a while they tak a mornin’ 
wi’ a freend, and syne a gless at the public- 
hoose in the evenin’, and they treat ane anither 
on market days. That’s the second stage; 
that’s ‘tastin’.’ Then they need it reg’lar 
every day, nicht an* mornin’, and they’ill sit 
on at nicht till they’re turned oot. They’ill 
fecht ower the Confession noo, and laist Sab- 
bath’s sermon, in the Kildrummie train, till 
it’s clean reediklus. That’s drammin’, and 
when they’ve hed a year or twa at that they 
hee their first spatie (spate is a river flood), 
and that gives them a bit fricht. But aff they 
set again, and then comes anither spatie, and 
the doctor hes tae bring them roond. They 
ca’ (drive) cannie for a year or sae, but the 
feein’ market puts the feenishin’ titch. They 
slip aff sudden in the end, and then they juist 
gang plunk — ay,” said Archie in a tone of 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 139 


gentle meditation, looking, as it were, over the 
edge, “juist plunk.” 

Nothing ever affected my imagination more 
powerfully than the swift surprise and grue- 
some suggestion of that “plunk.” 

But the literary credit of Drumtocht}?- rested 
on a broad basis, and no one could live with us 
without having his speech braced for life. You 
felt equal to any emergency, and were always 
able to express your mind with some degree of 
accuracy; which is one of the luxuries of life. 
There is, for instance, a type of idler who ex- 
asperates one to the point of assault, and whom 
one hungers to describe after a becoming man- 
ner. He was rare in the cold air of the North, 
but we had produced one specimen, and it was 
my luck to be present when he came back from 
a distant colony, and Jamie Soutar welcomed 
him in the kirkyard. 

“Weel, Chairlie, ” and Jamie examined the 
well-dressed prodigal from top to toe, “this is 
a prood moment for Drumtocht)^ and an awfu’ 
relief tae ken yir safe. Man, ye hevna wanted 
meat nor claithes; a’ tak it rael neeburly o’ ye 
tae speak ava wi’ us auld-fashioned fouk. 

“Ye needna look soor nor cock yir nose in 
the air, for you an’ me are auld freends, and 
yir puir granny wes na mair anxious aboot ye 
than a’ wes. 

“ ‘A’m feared that laddie o’ Bell’s ’ill kill 
himsel’ oot in Ameriky, ” were maverra words 
tae Hillocks here; ‘he’ill be slavin’ his flesh 
aft his banes tae mak a fortune and keep her 
comfortable. ’ 


140 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


“It was a rael satisfaction tae read yir letter 
frae the backwoods — or was’t a public-hoose in 
New York? ma memory’s no what it used ta be 
— tellin’ hoo ye were aye thinkin’ o’ yer auld 
granny, and wantin’ tae come hame and be a 
comfort tae her if she wud send ye oot twenty 
pund. 

“The bit that affeckit me maist wes the text 
frae the Prodigal Son — it cam’ in sae natural. 
Mony a broken hert hes that story bund up, 
as we ken weel in this Glen; but it’s dune a 
feck o’ mischief tae — that gude word o’ the 
Maister. Half the wastrels in the warld pay 
their passage hame wi’ that Parable, and get a 
bran new outfit for anither start in the far 
country. 

“Noo dinna turn red, Chairlie, for the nee- 
burs ken ye were tae work yir wy hame hed it 
no been for yir health. But there’s a pack of 
rascals ’ill sorn on their father as lang as he’s 
livin’, and they’ill stairve a weedowed mither, 
and they’ill take a sister’s wages, and if they 
canna get ony better a dune body o’ eighty ’ill 
serve them. 

“Man, Chairlie, if a’ hed ma wull wi’ thae 
wawfies, I wud ship them aff tae a desert 
island, wi’ ae sack o’ seed potatoes and anither 
o’ seed corn, and let them work or dee. A’ 
ken yir wi’ me there, for ye aye hed an inde- 
pendent spirit, and wesna feared tae bend yir 
back. 

“Noo, if a’ cam’ across ane o’ thae meeser- 
able objects in Drumtochty, div ye ken the 
advice I wud gie him? 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 141 


“A’ wud tell the daidlin’, thowless, feckless, 
fusionless wratch o’ a cratur tae watch for the 
first spate and droon himsel’ in the Tochty. 

“What’s he aff through the graves for in sic 
a hurry?” and Jamie followed Charlie’s retreat- 
ing figure with a glance of admirable amaze- 
ment; “thae’s no very gude mainners he’s 
learned in Ameriky. ” 

“Thank ye, Jeemes, thank ye; we’re a’ 
obleeged tae ye,” said Drumsheugh. “A’ 
wes ettlin’ tae lay ma hands on the whup- 
ma-denty (fop) masel’, but ma certes, he’s hed 
his kail het this mornin’. Div ye think he ’ill 
tak yir advice?” 

“Nae fear o’ him; thae neer-dae-weels haena 
the spunk; but a’m expeckin’ he’ill flee the 
pairish. ’ ’ 

Which he did. Had you caUed him indolent 
or useless he had smiled, but “daidlin’, thow- 
less, feckless, fusionless wratch,” drew blood 
at every stroke, like a Russian knout. 

We had tender words also, that still bring the 
tears to my eyes, and chief among them was 
“couthy. ” What did it mean? It meant a 
letter to some tired townsman, written in 
homely Scotch, and bidding him come to get 
new life from the Drum tochty air; and the 
grip of an honest hand on the Kildrummie 
platform, whose warmth lasted till you reached 
the Glen ; and another welcome at the garden 
gate that mingled with the scent of honey- 
suckle, and moss-roses, and thyme, and carna- 
tions ; and the best of everything that could be 
given you; and motherly nursing in illness, 


142 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

with skilly remedies of the olden time; and 
wise, cheery talk that spake no ill of man or 
God ; and loud reproaches if you proposed to 
leave under a month or two ; and absolute con- 
ditions that you must return; and a load of 
country dainties for a bachelor’s bare com- 
mons; and far more, that cannot be put into 
words, of hospitality, and kindness, and quiet- 
ness, and restfulness, and loyal friendship of 
hearts now turned to dust in the old kirkyard. 

But the best of all our words were kept for 
spiritual things, and the description of a godly 
man. We did not speak of the “higher life, ” 
nor of a “beautiful Christian,” for this way of 
putting it would not have been in keeping with 
the genius of Drumtochty. Religion there was 
very lowly and modest — an inward walk with 
God. No man boasted of himself, none told 
the secrets of the soul. But the Glen took 
notice of its saints, and did them silent rever- 
ence, which they themselves never knew. 
Jamie Soutar had a wicked tongue, and, at a 
time, it played round Archie’s temperance 
scheme, but when that good man’s back was 
turned Jamie was the first to do him justice. 

“It wud set us better if we did as muckle 
gude as Archie; he’s a richt livin’ man and 
weel prepared. ’ ’ 

Our choicest tribute was paid by general con- 
sent to Burnbrae, and it may be partiality, but 
it sounds to me the deepest in religious speech. 
Every cottage, strangers must understand, had 
at least two rooms — the kitchen where the 
work was done, that we called the “But,” and 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 143 


there all kinds of people came ; and the inner 
chamber which held the household treasures, 
that we called the “Ben,” and there none but 
a few honored visitors had entrance. So we 
imagined an outer court of the religious life 
where most of us made our home, and a secret 
place where only God’s nearest friends could 
enter, and it was said of Burnbrae, “He’s far 
ben. ’ ’ His neighbors had watched him, for a 
generation and more, buying and selling, 
ploughing and reaping, going out and in the 
common ways of a farmer’s life, and had not 
missed the glory of the soul. The cynic of 
Drumtochty summed up his character :“ There’s 
a puckle gude fouk in the pairish, and ane or 
twa o’ the ither kind, and the maist o’ us are 
half and between,” said Jamie Soutar, “but 
there’s ae thing ye may be sure o’ — Burnbrae 
is ‘far ben.’ ” 


A WISE WOMAN. 


. I. 

OUR SERMON TASTER. 

A Drumtochty man, standing six feet three 
in his boots, sat himself down one day in the 
study of a West-End minister, and gazed be- 
fore him with the countenance of a sphinx. 

The sight struck awe into the townsman’s 
heart, and the power of speech was paralj^zed 
within him. 

“A’m frae Drumtochty,” began a deep, sol- 
emn voice. “Ye ’ill hae heard of Drumtochty, 
of coorse. A’ve jined the polis; the pay is no 
that bad, and the work is naethin’ to an able- 
bodied man. ’ ’ 

When these particulars had been digested by 
the audience: 

“It’s a crooded place London, and the fouks 
aye in a tiravie [commotion], rinnin’ here and 
rinnin’ there, and the maist feck o’ them dinna 
ken whar they’re gaein’. 

“It’s officer this and officer that frae mornin’ 
till nicht. It’s peetifu’ tae see the helplessness 
o’ the bodies in their ain toon. And they’re 
freevolous,” continued the figure, refreshing 
itself with a reminiscence. 

144 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 145 

“It wes this verra mornin’ that a man askit 
me hoo tae get tae the Strand. 

“ ‘Hand on,’ I says, ‘till ye come tae a cross 
street, and dinna gang doon it, and when ye 
see anither pass it, but whup round the third, 
and yir nose ’ill bring ye tae the Strand. ’ 

“He was a shachlin bit cratur, and he look it 
up at me. 

“ ‘ Where were you born, officer?’ in his clip- 
pit English tongue. 

“ ‘Drumtochty,’ a’ said, ‘an’ we hev juist ae 
man as sma’ as you in the hale Glen. ’ 

‘ ‘ He gied awa’ lauchin’ like tae split his sides, 
an’ the fac’ is there’s no ane o’ them asks me a 
question but he lauchs. They’re a light-headed 
fouk, and no sair educat. But we maunna 
boast ; they hevna hed our advantages. ’ ’ 

The minister made a brave effort to assert 
himself. 

“Is there anything I can do ’’ but the 

figure simply waved its hand and resumed : 

“A’m cornin’ tae that, but a’ thocht ye wud 
be wantin’ ma opeenion o’ London. 

“ Weel, ye see, the first thing a’ did, of coorse, 
after settlin’ doon, was tae gae roond the kirks 
and hear what kin’ o’ ministers they hae up 
here. A’ve been in saxteen kirks the last three 
months, an’ a’ wud hae been in mair had it no 
bin for ma oors. 

“Ay, ay, a’ ken ye’ill be wantin’ ma judg- 
ment,’’ interpreting a movement in the chair, 
“an’ ye’ill hae it. Some wes puir stuff — plenty 
o’ water and little meal — and some wesna sae 
bad for England. But ye’ill be pleased to 

10 Brier Bush 


146 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

know,” here the figure relaxed and beamed on 
the anxious minister, “that a’m rael weel satis- 
fied wi’ yersel’, and a’m thinkin' o' sittin’ under 
ye. 

“Man,” were Drumtochty’s last words, “a’ 
wish Elspeth Macfadyen cud hear ye, her ‘at 
prees [tastes] the sermons in oor Glen; a’ be- 
lieve she wud pass ye, an' if ye got a certee- 
ficat frae Elspeth, ye wud be a prood man.’’ 

Drumtochty read widely — Soutar was soaked 
in Carlyle, and Marget Howe knew her “In 
Memoriam” by heart — but our intellectual life 
centred on the weekly sermon. Men thought 
about Sabbath as they followed the plough in 
our caller air, and braced themselves for an 
effort at the giving out of the text. The 
hearer had his snuff and selected his attitude, 
and from that moment to the close he never 
moved nor took his eyes off the preacher. 
There was a tradition that one of the Disrup- 
tion fathers had preached in the Free Kirk for 
one hour and fifty minutes on the bulwarks of 
Zion, and had left the impression that he was 
only playing round the outskirts of his subject. 
No preacher with anything to say could com- 
plain of Drumtochty, for he got a patient, hon- 
est, critical hearing from beginning to end. If 
a preacher were slightly equipped, the audi- 
ence may have been trying. Well-meaning 
evangelists who came with what they called “a 
simple gospel address,” and were accustomed 
to have their warmer passages punctuated with 
rounds of spiritual applause in the shape of 
smiles and nods, lost heart in face of that 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 147 


judicial front, and afterwards described Drum- 
tochty in the religious papers as “dead.” It 
was as well that these good men walked in a 
vain show, for, as a matter of fact, their hear- 
ers were painfully alive. 

“Whar did yon wakely body come frae, 
Burnbrae? It wes licht wark the day. There 
wes nae thocht worth mentionin’, and onything 
he hed wes eked oot by repeetition. Tae sae 
naethin’ o’ bairnly stories.” 

“He lives aboot England, a’m telt, an’ dis a 
feck o’ gude in his ain place. He hesna 
muckle in his head, a’ll alloo that, Netherton, 
but he’s an earnest bit cratur.” 

“Ou ay, and fu’ o’ self-conceit. Did ye hear 
hoo often he said, ‘I’? A’ got as far as saxty- 
three, and then a’ lost coont. But a’ keepit 
‘dear,’ it cam’ tae the hundred neat. 

“ ‘Weel?’ a’ says tae Elspeth Macfadyen. 
A’ kent she wud hae his measure. 

“ ‘Gruel, Netherton, juist gruel, and eneuch 
tae scunner [disgust] ye wi’ sugar.’ ” 

It was the birthright of every native of the 
parish to be a critic, and ^certain were allowed 
to be experts in special departments — Lachlan 
Campbell in doctrine and Jamie Soutar in 
logic — but as an all-round practitioner Mrs. 
Macfadyen had a solitary reputation. It rested 
on a long series of unreversed judgments, with 
felicitous strokes of description that passed 
into the literary capital of the Glen. One felt 
it was genius, and could only note contributing 
circumstances — an eye that took in the preach- 
er from the crown of his head to the sole of his 


148 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

foot ; an almost uncannie insight into charac- 
ter ; the instinct to seize on every scrap of evi- 
dence ; a memory that was simply an automatic 
register; an unfailing sense of fitness; and an 
absolute impartiality regarding subject. 

It goes without saying that Mrs. Macfadyen 
did not take nervous little notes during the 
sermon — all writing on Sabbath, in kirk or 
outside, was strictly forbidden in Drumtochty 
— or mark her Bible, or practise any other pro- 
fane device of feeble-minded hearers. It did 
not matter how elaborate or how incoherent a 
sermon might be; it could not confuse our 
critic. 

When John Peddie, of Muirtown, who always 
approached two hours, and usually had to leave 
out the last head, took time at the Drumtochty 
Fast, and gave, at full length, his famous dis- 
course on the total depravity of the human 
race, from the text, “Arise, shine, for thy light 
is come,” it may be admitted that the Glen 
wavered in its confidence. Human nature has 
limitations, and failure would have been no 
discredit to Elspeth. 

“They were sayin’ at the Presbytery,” 
Burnbrae reported, “that it hes mair than 
seeventy heads, coontin’ pints, of coorse, and 
a’ can weel believe it. Na, na; it’s no tae be 
expeckit that Elspeth cud gie them a’ aifter ae 
bearin’. ” 

Jamie Soutar looked in to set his mind at 
rest, and Elspeth went at once to work. 

“Sit doon, Jamie, for it canna be dune in a 
meenut.” 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 149 


It took twenty- three minutes exactly, for 
Jamie watched the clock. 

“That’s the laist, makin’ seeventy-four, and 
ye may depend on every ane but that fourth 
pint under the sixth head. Whether it wes the 
‘beginnin’ o’ faith’ or ‘the origin,’ a’ canna be 
sure, for he cleared his throat at the time.’’ 

Peter Bruce stood helpless at the Junction 
next Friday — Drumtochty was celebrating 
Elspeth — and the achievement established her 
for life. 

Probationers who preached in the vacancy 
had heard rumors; and tried to identify their 
judge, with the disconcerting result that they 
addressed their floweriest passages to Mistress 
Stirton, who was the stupidest woman in the 
Free Kirk, and had once stuck in the “chief 
end of man.’’ They never suspected the sonsy, 
motherly woman, two pews behind Donald 
Menzies, with her face of demure interest and 
general air of country simplicity. It was as 
well for the probationers that they had not 
caught the glint of those black, beady eyes. 

“It’s curious,’’ Mrs. Macfadyen remarked 
to me one day, “hoo the pulpit fashions change, 
juist like weemen’s bonnets. 

“Noo a’ mind when auld Doctor Ferintosh. 
him ’at wrote ‘Judas Iscariot the first Residu- 
ary,’ would stand twa meenutes facing the 
fouk, and no sit doon till he hed his snuff. 

“But thae young birkies gie oot ’at they see 
naebody cornin’ in, an’ cover their face wi’ ae 
hand sae solemn, that if ye didna catch them 
peekin’ through their fingers tae see what like 


150 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


the kirk is, ye wud think they were pray- 
in’. ” 

“There’s not much escapes you,’’ I dared to 
say, and although the excellent woman was 
not accessible to gross flattery, she seemed 
pleased. 

“ A’m thankfu’ that a’ can see withoot lookin’ ; 
an’ a’ll wager nae man ever read his sermon 
in Drumtochty Kirk, an’ a’ didna find him oot. 
Noo, there’s the new meenister o’ Netheraird, 
he writes his sermon on ae side o’ ten sheets o’ 
paper, an’ he’s that carried awa’ at the end o’ 
ilka page that he disna ken what he’s daein’, 
an’ the sleeve o’ his goon slips the sheet across 
tae the ither side o’ the Bible. 

“But Doctor Ferintosh wes cleverer, sail it 
near beat me tae detect him,” and Elspeth 
paused to enjoy the pulpit ruse. “It cam’ tae 
me sudden ae Sacrament Monday, hoo dis he 
aye turn up twal texts, naither mair nor less, 
and that set me thinkin’. Then a’ noticed that 
he left the Bible open at the place till anither 
text was due, an’ I wunnered a’d been sae 
slow. It was this wy: he askit the beadle for 
a gless o’ water in the vestry, and slippit his 
sermon in atween the leaves in sae mony bits. 
A’ve wished for a gallery at a time, but there’s 
mair credit in findin’ it oot below — ay, an^ 
pleasure tae; a’ never wearied in kirk in ma 
life. ’’ 

Mrs. Macfadyen did not appreciate prodigal 
quotations of Scriptures, and had her suspi- 
cions of this practice. 

“Tak the meenister o’ Pitscourie noo; he’s 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 151 


fair fozzy wi’ trokin’ in his gairden an’ feedin’ 
pigs, and hesna studied a sermon for thirty 
year. 

“Sae what dis he dae, think ye? He havers 
for a while on the errors o’ the day, and syne 
he says, ‘That’s what man says, but what says 
the Apostle Paul? We shall see what the 
Apostle Paul says. ’ He puts on his glasses, 
and turns up the passage, and reads maybe ten 
verses, and then he’s aff on the jundy [trot] 
again. When a man hes naethin’ tae say he’s 
aye lang, and a’ve seen him gie half an oor o’ 
passages, and anither half oor o’ havers. 

“ ‘He’s a Bible preacher, at any rate,’ says 
Burnbrae tae me laist Fast, for, honest man, 
he hes aye some gude word for a body. 

“ ‘It’s ae thing,’ I said to him, ‘tae feed a 
calf wi’ milk, and anither tae gie it the empty 
cogie tae lick. ' 

“It’s curious, but a’ve noticed that when a 
Moderate gets lazy he preaches auld sermons, 
but a Free Kirk minister taks tae abusin’ his 
neeburs and readin’ screeds o’ the Bible. 

“But Maister Pittendreigh hes twa sermons, 
at ony rate,’’ and Elspeth tasted the sweets of 
memory with such keen relish that I begged 
for a share. 

“Weel, ye see he’s terrible prood o’ his fee- 
nishes, and this is ane o’ them : 

“ ‘Heaven, ma brethren, will be far grander 
than the hoose o’ ony earthly potentate, for 
there ye will no longer eat the flesh of bulls 
nor drink the blood o’ goats, but we shall sook 


152 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


the juicy pear and scoop the loocious meelon. 
Amen. ’ 

“He hes nae mair sense o’ humour than an 
owl, and a’ aye hand that a man without hu- 
mour sudna be allowed intae a poopit. 

“A’ hear that they have nae examination in 
humour at the college; it’s an awfu’ want, for 
it wud keep oot mony a dreich body. 

“But the meelon’s naethin’ tae the goat, 
that cowed a’thing, at the Fast tae. 

“If Jeemswes aboot a’ daurna mention ’t: 
he canna behave himsel’ tae this day gin he 
hears o’ it, though ye ken he’s a douce man as 
ever lived. 

“It wes anither feenish, and it ran this wy: 

“ ‘Noo, ma freends, a’ wull no be keepin’ ye 
ony longer, and ye’ill a’ gae hame tae yir ain 
hooses and mind yir ain business. And as 
sune as ye get hame ilka man ’ill gae tae his 
closet and shut the door, and stand for five 
meenutes, and ask himsel’, this solemn ques- 
tion, “Am I a goat?’’ Amen.’ 

“The amen near upset me masel’, and a’ hed 
tae dunge Jeems wi’ ma elbow. 

“He said no a word on the wy back, but a’ 
saw it west harmin’ in him, and he gried oot 
sudden aifter his dinner as if he had been ta’en 
unweel. 

“A’ cam’ on him in the b3"re, rowing in the 
strae like a bairn, and every ither row he took 
he wud say, ‘Am I a goat?’ 

“It wes na cannie for a man o’ his wecht, 
besides bein’ a married man and a kirk mem- 
ber, and a’ gied him a bearin’. 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 153 


“He sobered doon, and a’ never saw him dae 
the like since. But he hesna forgot, na, na; 
a’ve seen a look come ower Jeems’ face in 
kirk, and a’ve been feared.’’ 

When the Free Kirk quarreled in their 
vacancy over two probationers, Mrs. MacFad- 
yen summoned them up with such excellent 
judgment that they were thrown over and 
peace restored. 

“There’s some o’ thae Muirtown drapers can 
busk oot their windows that ye canna pass, 
withoot lookin’ ; ther’s bits o’ blue and bits o* 
red, and a ribbon here an’ a lace yonder. 

“It’s a bonnie show and denty, an’ no wun- 
ner the lassies stan’ and stare. 

“But gae intae the shop, and peety me, 
there’s next tae naethin’; it’s a’ in the win- 
dow. 

“Noo, that’s Maister Popinjay, as neat an’ 
fikey a little mannie as ever a’ saw in a black 
goon. 

“His bit sermon wes six poems — five a’ hed 
heard afore — four anecdotes — three aboot him- 
sel’ and ain aboot a lord — twa burnies, ae floo’r 
gairden, and a snowstorm, wi’ the text thir- 
teen times and ‘beloved’ twal: that was a’; a 
takin’ window and Netherton’s lassies cudna 
sleep thinkin’ o’ him. 

“There’s ither shopmen in Muirtown that 
fiar scunner ye wi’ their windows — they’re that 
ill set out — and inside ther’s sic a wale o’ stuff 
that the man canna get what ye want; he’s 
clean smoored wi’ his ain goods. 

“It’s a grand shop for the old fouk that hae. 


154 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

plenty o’ time and can turn ower the things by 
the oor. Ye ’ill no get a young body inside the 
door. 

“That’s Maister Auchtermuchty ; he hes mair 
material than he kens hoo tae handle, and nae- 
body, bearin’ him, can mak head or tail o’ his 
sermon. 

“Ye get a rive at the Covenants ae meenut, 
an’ a mouthfu’ of justification the next. Yir 
nae suner wi’ the Patriarchs than yir whuppit 
aff tae the Apostles. 

“It’s rich f cedin’, nae doot, but sair mixed 
an’ no verra tasty. ’’ 

So the old and young compromised, and chose 
Carmichael. 

Elspeth was candid enough on occasion, but 
she was not indiscreet. She could convey her 
mind delicately if need be, and was a mistress 
of subtle suggestion. 

When Netherton’s nephew preached the mis- 
sionary sermon — he was a stout young man 
with a volcanic voice — Mrs. MacFadyen could 
not shirk her duty, but she gave her judgment 
with care. 

“He’s a fine lad, and ’ill be sure to get a 
kirk; he’s been weel brocht up, and comes o’ 
decent fouk. 

“His doctrine sounds richt, and he’ill no 
gang aff the track. Ye canna ca’ him bashfu’, 
and he’s sure to be heard. ’’ 

Her audience still waited, and not in vain. 

“But the Lord has nae pleesure in the legs 
o’ a man,’’ and every one felt that the last 
word had been said on Netherton’s nephew. 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 165 


II. 

THE COLLAPSE OF MRS. MACFADYEN. 

Carmichael used to lament bitterly that he 
had lost his Gaelic, and laboured plans of com- 
pensation for our Celts, who were understood 
to worship in English at an immense reduction 
of profit. One spring he intercepted a High- 
land minister, who was returning from his win- 
ter’s raid on Glasgow with great spoil, and 
arranged an evening service, which might carry 
Lachlan Campbell back to the golden days of 
Auchindarroch. Mr. Dugald Mactavish was 
himself much impressed with the opportunity 
of refreshing his exiled brethren, speaking 
freely on the Saturday of the Lowlands as 
Babylon, and the duty of gathering the out- 
casts of Israel into one. He was weaned with 
difficulty from Gaelic, and only consented to 
preach in the “other language” on condition 
that he should not be restricted in time. His 
soul had been much hampered in West End 
churches, where he had to appeal for his new 
stove under the first head, lest he should go 
empty away ; and it was natural for one escap- 
ing from such bondage to put a generous inter- 
pretation on Carmichael’s concession. So 
Maister Dugald continued unto the setting of 


156 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


the sun. His discourse was so rich and varied 
that Peddie of Muirtown on original sin was not 
to be compared with it in breadth of treatment, 
and Mrs. MacFadyen confessed frankly that she 
gave up in despair before the preacher -Jiad 
fairly entered on his second hour. Besides the 
encounter of the preacher with Mr. Urijah 
Hopps, which carried the Glen by storm, and 
kept the name of Mactavish green with us for 
a generation. 

Rumors of this monumental pulpit effort, 
with its stirring circumstances, passed from 
•end to end of the Glen during the week, and 
Peter himself recognized that it was an occa- 
sion at the Junction on Friday. 

“Ye may as weel shut aff the steam, Jeems, ’’ 
Peter explained to our engine-driver, “an’ gie 
them ten meenuts. It’s been by ordinar’ at 
Drumtochty Free Kirk laist Sabbath nicht, and 
Drumsheugh ’ill no move till he hears the end 
o’t. ’’ 

And as soon as the Muirtown train had re- 
moved all strangers, that worthy man opened 
the campaign. 

“What kin’ o’ collieshangie [disturbance] is 
this ye’ve been carryin’ on. Hillocks? It’s 
doon-richt aggravatin’ that ye’re no content 
pesterin’ oor life oot wi’ that English body in 
the kirkyaird, but ye maist needs set him up 
tae arglebargle wi’ a stranger minister at the 
Free Kirk. They say that the puir man cud 
hardly get a word in at ween you and yir lodger. 
Burnbrae here is threatenin’ ye wi’ the Sherra, 
and a’ dinna wonder. 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 157 


“It’s nae lauchin’ matter, a’ can tell ye, 
Drumsheugh; a’ve never been sae black 
alfrontit a’ ma life. Burnbrae kens as weel 
as ye dae that a’ wasna tae blame. 

“Ye’ill better clear yersel’ at ony rate. Hil- 
locks, for some o’ the neeburs threep [insist] 
’at it wes you, and some that it wes yir freend, 
an’there’s ithers declare ye ran in compt [com- 
pany] like twa dogs worrying sheep; it wes a 
bonnie like pliskie [escapade] onywy, and 
hardly fit for an Auld Kirk elder’ — a sally much 
enjoyed by the audience, who knew that, after 
Whinnie, Hillocks was the doucest man in 
Drumtochty. 

“Weel, ye see it wes thiswy, ’’ began Hil- 
locks, with the air of a man on his trial for fire 
raising: “Hopps fund oot that a Hielandman 
wes tae preach in the Free Kirk, and naethin’ 
wud sateesfy him but that we maun gae. A’ 
micht hae jaloused [suspected] it wesna the 
sermon the wratch wantit, for he hed the impi- 
dence tae complain that the Doctor was tedi- 
ous Sabbath a fortnicht when he gied us 
‘Ruth,’ though I never minded ‘Ruth’ gae aff 
sae sweet a’ the times a’ve heard it. 

“Gin a’ hed imagined what the ettercap [cap- 
tious creature] wes aifter a’ wud hae seen ma 
feet in the fire afore they carried me tae the 
Free Kirk that nicht. 

“Says he tae me on the road, ‘A’m told the 
minister will be in his national costume.’’ 

“ ‘He’ill be in his goon and band,’ says I, ‘if 
that’s what ye mean,’ for the head o’ him is 


168 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


fu’ o’ maggots and nae man can tell what he 
wull be at next. 

“ ‘Mister Soutar said that he would wear his 
kilt, and that it would be an interesting spec- 
tacle. ’ 

“ ‘Jamie’s been drawing yir leg [befooling 
you],’ says I. ‘Man, there’s nae body wears a 
kilt forbye gemkeepers and tourist bodies. 
Ye’ill better come awa’ hame, ’ and sail, if a’ 
hed kent what wes tae happen, a’ wud hae 
taken him aff below ma oxter. 

“It’s no richt tae mak me responsible for a’ 
tried tae wile him awa tae the back o’ the kirk 
whar naebody cud see him, but he’s that 
thrawn and upsettin’, if he didna gae tae the 
verra front seat afore the poopit. 

“ ‘I want a good position,’ says he; ‘I’ll see 
everthing here;’ sae a’ left him an’ gied tae 
Elspeth MacFadyen’s seat. 

“ ‘He’s anxious tae hear,’ she said, ‘an’ a’m 
thinkin’ he’ill get mair than he expecks. A’ 
wish it wes weel ower masel’, Hillocks; it ’ill 
be an awfu’ nicht. ’ 

“Thae Hielandmen dinna pit aff time wi’ the 
preleeminaries, but they were lang eneuch tae 
let onybody see what kin’ o’ man Mactavish 
wes. 

“A gruesome carle, neeburs, wi’ his hair 
hangin’ roond his face like a warlock and his 
een blazin’ oot o’ his head like fire; the sicht 
o’ him is sure tae sober Hopps, thinks I. 

“But no, there’s some fouk ’ill take nae 
warnin’ ; there he was, sittin’ in front o’ Mac- 
tavish with his thumbs in his airm-holes, and 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 159 


a watch gaird spread richt across him, and ae 
leg cocked over the ither, the verra eemage of 
a bantam cock fleein’ in the face o’ judgment. ” 

Drumtochty had never moved during this 
history, and now they drew closer round Hil- 
locks, on whom the mantle of speech had for 
once descended. 

“Mactavish lookit at the body aince, and he 
lookit again, juist tae gie him fair notis, and 
then he broke oot in face o’ the hale congrega- 
tion : 

“ ‘There’s nothing in all the world so decep- 
tive as sin, for outside it’s like a bonnie sum- 
mer day, and inside it’s as black as hell. 

“Now here iss this fat little man sittin’ be- 
fore me with his suit o’ blue clothes so bonnie 
and dainty, and a watch gaird as thick as my 
finger on his wame, smilin’ an’ smirkin’, and 
real well contented with himself, but if he 
wass opened up what a sight it would be for 
men and angels. Oh, yes, yes! it would be a 
fearsome sicht, and no man here would be able 
to look. ’ 

“A’ tell ye, neeburs, ye micht hae heard a 
pin fa’ tae the ground, andma heart was 
thumping in ma briest; a’ wudna come thro’ 
the likes o’ von again for half the pleenishin’ 
o’ Hillocks. ’’ 

There was not a sound at the junction save 
the steam escaping from the engine, and Hil- 
locks resumed: 

“But the worst’s cornin’. Hopps jumps up 
and faces Mactavish — a ’ll no deny there is some 
spunk in the body. 


160 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

“ ‘What right have you to speak like that to 
me? Do you know who I am?’ 

“He hed better been quiet, for he wes nae 
match for yon Hielandman. 

“Mactavish glowered at him for maybe a, 
meenut till the puir cratur fell back intae his 
seat. 

“ ‘Man,’ says Mactavish, ‘I do not know who 
you are, and I do not know what you are, and 
I shall not be asking who you are, and I am 
not caring though you be MacCallummore him- 
sel’. You are just a parable; oh, yes! just a 
parable. 

“ ‘But if ye be convicted of secret sin ye may 
go out, and if there be anybody else whose 
sins have been laid bare he may go out too, 
and if nobody wants to go out, then I will be 
going on with the sermon, oh, yes ! for it will 
not do to be spending all our time on parables. ’ 

“As sure as a’m stannin’ here ye cudna see 
Hopps inside his claithes when Mactavish wes 
dune wi’ him. ’’ 

When the train started Hillocks received the 
compliments of the third with much modesty, 
and added piquant details regarding the utter 
confusion of our sermon taster. 

“ ‘Did ye follow?’ a’ speirit o’ Elspeth afore 
a’ went tae pit Hopps thegither. 

“ ‘Cud a’ follow a bumbee?’ was the only 
word a’ got frae her; a’ saw she was beaten 
for aince and wes rael mad. ’ 

“It’s true Elspeth scuffled wi’ her feet at the 
laist head and gar’d him close?’’’ 

“A’ill neither deny nor affirm, Drumsheugh; 



A’ll juist tell ye the hale hypothic.”— Page 162. 

Ucside thu Bonnie Brier Bush. 




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BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 161 

but there’s nae doot when the mune began tae 
shine aboot nine, and Mactavish started aff on 
the Devil, somebody scrapit aside me. It 
wesna Jeems; he daurna for his life; and it 
wesna me. A’ll no say but it micht be Els- 
peth, but she was sair provokit. Aifter had- 
din’ her ain twenty years, tae be maistered by 
a Hielandman!” 

It was simply a duty of friendship to look in 
and express one’s sympathy with Mrs. Mac- 
Fadyen in this professional disaster. I found 
her quite willing to go over the circumstances, 
which were unexampled in her experience, and 
may indeed be considered a contribution to his- 
tory. 

“A’ wudna hae minded,” explained Elspeth, 
settling down to narrative, “hoo mony heads 
he gied oot, no tho’ he hed titched the hun- 
dred. A’ve cause tae be gratefu’ for a guid 
memory, and a’ve kept it in fine fettle wi’ ser- 
mons. My wy is tae place ilka head at the 
end o’ a shelf and a’ the pints aifter it in order 
like the plates there,” and Mrs. MacFadyen 
pointed with honest pride to her wall of crock- 
ery, “and when the minister is at an illustra- 
tion or makin’ an appeal a’ aye rin ower the 
rack tae see that a’ve a’ the pints in their 
places. Maister Mactavish cud ne’er hae got 
the wheep-hand o’ me wi’ his diveesions; he’s 
no fit to hand thecan’le tae John Peddie. Na, 
na; a’ wesna feared o’ that when a’ examined 
yon man gieing oot the Psalm, but a’ didna 
like his een. 

“ ‘He’s ravelled,’ a’ said tae masel*, ‘without 

11 Brier Bush 


162 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

beginning or end; we’ill hae a nichto’t,’ and 
sae we hed. ’ ’ 

I preserved a sympathetic silence till Mrs. 
Macfadyen felt herself able to proceed. 

“It’s easy eneuch, ye see, for an auld hand 
tae manage ae set o’ heads gin they come tae 
ten or a hundred, but it’s anither business 
when a mat hes different sets in ae sermon. 
Noo, hoo mony sets div ye think that man hed 
afore he wes dune?’’ 

It was vain for a mere layman to cope with 
the possibilities of Mr. Mactavish. 

“Power, as a’m a leevin’ woman, and that’s 
no a’ ; he didna feenish wi’ ae set an’ begin 
wi’ the next, but if he didna mix them a’ 
thegither! Power set o’ heads, a’ in a tangle; 
noo ye hae some kin’ o’ idee o’ what a’ hed 
tae face.’’ And Mrs. Macfadyen paused that 
I might take in the situation. 

When I expressed my conviction that even 
the most experienced hearer was helpless in 
such circumstances, Elspeth rallied, and gave 
me to understand that she had saved some frag- 
ments from the wreckage. 

“A’ll juist tell ye the hypothic, for sic a dis- 
course ye may never hear a’ the days o’ yir 
life. 

“Ye ken thae Hielandmen tak their texts for 
the maist pairt frae the Auld Testament, and 
this was it mair or less, ‘The trumpet shall be 
blown, and they shall come from Assyria and 
the land o’ Egypt,’ and he began by explainin’ 
that there were twa classes in Drumtochty — 
those who were born and bred in the parish, 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 163 

which were oursels’, and them ’at hed tae stay 
here owin’ tae the mysterious dispensation of 
Providence, which wes Lachlan Campbell. 

“Noo this roosed ma suspicions, for it’s 
against reason for a man tae be dividing intae 
classes till the end o’ his sermon. Tak my 
word, it’s no chancy when a minister begins at 
the tail o’ his subject: he’ll wind a queer pirn 
afore he’s dune.” 

“Weel, he gaed up and he gaed doon, and he 
aye said, ‘Oh, yes, yes!’ juist like the thrashing 
mill at Drumsheugh scraiking and girling till 
it’s fairly atf, an’ by and by oot he comes wi’ 
his heads. 

“ ‘There are fower trumpets,’ says he. 
‘First, a leeteral trumpet ; second, aheestorical 
trumpet; third, a metaphorical trumpet; 
fourth, a speeritual trumpet. ’ 

“ ‘I’ve got ye, ’a’ said taemasel’, and settled 
doon to hear him on the first head, for fear he 
micht hae pints; but wull ye believe me, he 
barely mentioned leeteral till he was aff tae 
speeritual, and then back tae heestorical, an’ 
in five minutes he had the hale fower trumpets 
blawing thegither. 

“It was maist exasperatin’, and a’ saw Jeems 
watchin’ me — but that’s naethin’. 

“ ‘There be many trumpets,’ says he, ‘oh, 
yes, an’ it wes a good trumpet Zaccheus heard, 
and afore a’ knew where a’ wes he had startit 
again wi’ fower new heads, as if he had never 
said trumpet. 

“ ‘A big tree,’ he cries, ‘an’ a little man, oh, 
yes! an’ this is what we will be doin’. 


164 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

“ ‘First. We shall go up the tree wi’ Zac- 
cheus. 

“ ‘Second. We shall sit in the branches wi’ 
Zaccheus. 

“ ‘Third. We shall come down from the tree 
wi’ Zaccheus; and if time permits, 

“ ‘Fourth. We shall be going home wi’ the 
publican.’” 

It seems only just to pay a tribute at this 
point to the wonderful presence of mind Mrs. 
Macfadyen had shown amid unparalleled diffi- 
culties. 

“Hoot awa,” she responded; “the meenut 
ony heads cam’ a’ knew ma grund; but the 
times atween I wes fairly lost. 

“A’ll no deny,” and our critic turned aside 
to general reflections, “that Mactavish said 
mony bonnie and aff eckin ’ things frae time tae 
time, like the glimpses o’ the hills ye get when 
the mist rolls awa, and he cam nearer the hert 
than the feck o’ oor preachers, but certes yon 
confusion is mair than us low-country fouk cud 
stand. 

“Juist when he wes speakin’ aboot Zaccheus 
as nice as ye please — though whether he was 
up the tree or doon the tree a’ cudna for the life 
o’ me tell — he stops sudden and looks at us ower 
the top o’ his spectacles, which is terrible 
impressive, and near dis instead o’ speakin’. 

“ ‘We will now come to the third head of this 
discoorse. 

“ ‘The trumpet shall be blown, for,’ says he, 
in a kin’ o’ whisper, ‘there’s a hint o’ oppeesi- 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 165 


tion here,’ an’ a’ tell ye honestly a’ lost hert 
a’thegither, for here he wes back again amang 
the trumpets, and a’ll gie ma aith he never sae 
much as mentioned that head afore. 

“It’s an awfu’ peety that some men dinna 
ken when tae stop; they micht see frae the 
poopit; if a’ saw the tears cornin’ tae the 
women’s een, or the men glowering like wild 
cats for fear they sud brak doon, a’d say Amen 
as quick as Pittendreigh aifter his goat. 

“What possessed Maister Dugald, as Lachlan 
ca’d him, a’ dinna ken, but aboot half nine — 
an’ he begood at six — he set oot upon the trum- 
pets again, an’ when he cudna get a hand o’ 
them, he says: 

“ ‘It will be getting dark’ (the mune was 
fairly oot) ‘an’ it is time we were considering 
our last head. 

“ ‘We will now study Satan in all his offices 
and characteristics. ’ 

“A’ see they’ve been telling ye what hap- 
pened, ’’ and confusion covered Mrs. Macfad- 
yen’s ingenious countenance. 

“Weel, as sure’s deith a’ cudna help it; tae 
be sittin’ on peens for mair than twa oors 
tryin’ tae get a grupo’ a man’s heads, an’ him 
tae play hide-and-seek wi’ ye, an’ then tae 
begin on Satan at nine o’clock is mair nor flesh 
and blood could endure. 

“A’ acknowledge a’ scrapit, but a’ houp tae 
gudeness a’ll never be tempted like yon again. 

“It’s a judgment on me for ma pride, an 
Jeems said that tae me, for a’ boastit a’ cudna 


166 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

be beat, but anither oor o’ Mactavish wud ha’ 
driven me dottie [silly].” 

Then I understood that Mrs. Macfadyen had 
been humbled in the dust. 


A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL. 


L 

A GENERAL PRACTITIONER. 

Drumtochty was accustomed to break every 
law of health, except wholesome food and fresh 
air, and yet had reduced the Psalmist’s farthest 
limit to an average life-rate. Our men made 
no difference in their clothes for summ^er or 
winter, Drumsheugh and one or two of the 
larger farmers condescending to a topcoat on 
Sabbath, as a penalty of their position, and 
without regard to temperature. They wore 
their blacks at a funeral, refusing to cover them 
with anything, out of respect to the deceased, 
and standing longest in the kirkyard when the 
north wind was blowing across a hundred miles 
of snow. If the rain was pouring at the Junc- 
tion, then Drumtochty stood two minutes longer 
through sheer native dourness till each man 
had a cascade from the tail of his coat, and 
hazarded the suggestion, halfway to Kildrum- 
mie, that it had been ‘‘a bit scrowie, ” a 
“scrowie” being as far short of a “shoor” as a 
shoor fell below “weet. " 

This sustained defiance of the elements pro- 
167 


168 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

yoked occasional judgments in the shape of a 
*‘hoast” (cough), and the head of the house 
was then exhorted by his women folk to 
“change his feet” if he had happened to walk 
through a burn on his way home, and was pes- 
tered generally with sanitary precautions. It is 
right to add that the gudeman treated such 
advice with contempt, regarding it as suitable 
for the effeminacy of towns, but not seriously 
intended for Drumtochty. Sandy Stewart 
“napped” stones on the road in his shirt 
sleeves, wet or fair, summer and winter, till he 
was persuaded to retire from active duty at 
eighty-five, and he spent ten years more in 
regretting his hastiness and criticising his suc- 
cessor. The ordinary course of life, with fine 
air and contented minds, was to do a full share 
of work till seventy, and then to look after 
“orra” jobs well into the eighties, and to “slip 
awa” within sight of ninety. Persons above 
ninety were understood to be acquitting them- 
selves with credit, and assumed airs of author- 
ity, brushing aside the opinions of seventy as 
immature, and confirming their conclusions 
W’ith illustrations drawn from the end of last 
century. 

When Hillocks’ brother so far forgot himself 
as to “slip awa” at sixty, that worthy man was 
scandalized and offered laboured explanations 
at the “beerial. ” 

“It’s an awfu’ business ony wy ye look at it, 
an’ a sair trial tae us a’. A’ never heard tell 
o’ sic a thing on oor family afore, an’ it’s no 
easy accoontin’ for’t. 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 169 

“The gude wife was say in’ he wes never the 
same sin’ a weet nicht he lost himsel’ on the 
muir and .slept below a bush ; but that’s neither 
here nor there. A’m thinkin’ he sappit his 
constitution thae twa years he wes grieve aboot 
England. That wes thirty years syne, but 
ye’re never the same aifter thae foreign clim- 
ates. ’ ’ 

Drumtochty listened patiently to Hillocks’ 
apologia, but was not satisfied. 

“It’s clean havers aboot the muir. Losh 
keep’s, we’ve a’ sleepit oot and never been a 
hair the waur. 

“A’ admit that England micht hae dune the 
job; it’s no cannie stravagin’ yon wy frae place 
tae place, but Drums never complained tae me 
as if he hed been nippit in the Sooth. ’’ 

The parish had, in fact, lost confidence in 
Drums after his wayward experiment with a 
potato-digging machine, which turned out a 
lamentable failure, and his premature departure 
confirmed our vague impression of his charac- 
ter. 

“He’s awa noo, ’’ Drumsheugh summed up, 
after opinion had time to form; “an’ there 
were maur fouk than Drums, but there’s nae 
doot he wes a wee flichty. ’’ 

When illness had the audacity to attack a 
Drumtochty man, it was described as a 
“whup,’’ and was treated by the men with a 
fine negligence. Hillocks was sitting in the 
Post Office one afternoon when I looked in for 
my letters, and the right side of his face was 
blazing red. His subject of discourse was the 


170 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


prospects of the turnip “breer, ” but he casu- 
ally explained that he was waiting for medical 
advice. 

“ The gude wife is keepin’ up a ding-dong 
frae mornin’ till nicht aboot ma face, and a’m 
fair deaved [deafened], so a’m watchin’ for 
MacLure tae get a bottle as he comes wast; 
yon’s him noo. ” 

The doctor made his diagnosis from horse- 
back on sight, and stated the result with that 
admirable clearness which endeared him to 
Drumtochty. 

‘ ‘ Confoond ye, Hillocks, what are ye ploiterin’ 
aboot here for in the weet wi’ a face like a 
boiled beet? Div ye no ken that ye’ve a tetch 
o’ the rose [erysipelas], and oticht tae be in the 
hoose? Gae hame wi’ ye afore a’ leave the 
bit, and send a haflin for some medicine. Ye 
don nerd idiot, are ye ettlin tae follow Drums 
afore yir time?” And the medical attendant 
of Drumtochty continued his invective till Hil- 
locks started, and still pursued his retreating 
figure with medical directions of a simple and 
practical character. 

‘‘A’m watchin’, an’ peety ye if ye pit aff 
time. Keep yir bed the mornin’, and dinna 
show yir face in the fields till a’ see ye. A ’ll 
gie ye a cry on Monday — sic an auld fule — but 
there’s no ane o’ them tae mind anither in the 
hale pairish. ” 

Hillocks’ wife informed the kirkyard that the 
doctor “gied the gudeman an awHT clearin’,” 
and that Hillocks ‘‘wes keepin’ the hoose,” 
which meant that the patient had tea breakfast. 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 171 


and at that time was wandering about the farm 
buildings in an easy undress with his head in a 
plaid. 

It was impossible for a doctor to earn even 
the most modest competence from a people of 
such scandelous health, and so MacLure had 
annexed neighbouring parishes. His house — 
little more than a cottage — stood on the road- 
side among the pines towards the head of our 
Glen, and from this base of operations he dom- 
inated the wild glen that broke the wall of the 
Grampians above Drumtochty — where the 
snowdrifts were twelve feet deep in winter, and 
the only way of passage at times was the chan- 
nel of the river — and the moorland district 
westwards till he came to the Dunleith sphere 
of influence, where there were four doctors and 
a hydropathic. Drumtochty in its length, which 
was eight miles, and its breadth, which was 
four, lay in his hand; besides a glen behind, 
unknown to the world, which in the night time 
he visited at the risk of life, for the way thereto 
was across the big moor with its peat holes 
and treacherous bogs. And he held the land 
eastwards towards Muirtown so far as Geordie ; 
the Drumtochty post traveled every day, and 
could carry word that the doctor was wanted. 
He did his best for the need of every man, 
woman, and child in this wild, straggling dis- 
trict, year in, year out, in the snow and in the 
heat, in the dark and in the light, without rest, 
and without holiday for forty years. 

One horse could not do the work of this 
man, but we liked best to see him on his old 


172 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


white mare, who died the week after her 
master, and the passing of the two did our 
hearts good. It was not that he rode beauti- 
fully, for he broke every canon of art, flying 
with his arms, stooping till he seemed to be 
speaking into Jess’s ears, and rising in the 
saddle beyond all necessity. But he could ride 
faster, stay longer in the saddle, and had a 
firmer grip with his knees than any one I ever 
met, and it was all for mercy’s sake. When 
the reapers in harvest time saw a figure whirl- 
ing past in a cloud of dust, or the family at the 
foot of Glen Urtach, gathered round the fire 
on a winter’s night, heard the rattle of a 
horse’s hoofs on the road, or the shepherds, 
out after the sheep, traced a black speck mov- 
ing across the snow to the upper glen, they 
knew it was the doctor, and without being 
conscious of it, wished him God speed. 

Before and behind his saddle were strapped 
the instruments and medicines the doctor 
might want, for he never knew what was 
before him. There were no specialists in 
Drumtochty, so this man had to do every- 
thing as best he could, and as quickly. He 
was chest doctor, and doctor for every other 
organ as well; he was accoucheur and surgeon; 
he was oculist and aurist ; he was dentist and 
chloroformist, besides being chemist and drug- 
gist. It was often told how he was far up 
Glen Urtach when the feeders of the threshing 
mill caught young Burnbrae, and how he only 
stopped to change horses at his house, and gal- 
loped all the way to Burnbrae, and flung him- 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 173 


self off his horse and amputated the arm, and 
saved the lad’s life. 

“You wild hae thocht that every meenut 
was an hour,” said Jamie Soutar, who had 
been at the threshing, “an’ a’ll never forget 
the puir lad lying as white as deith on the floor 
o’ the loft, wi’ his head on a sheaf, and Burn- 
brae handin’ the bandage ticht an’ prayin’ a’ 
the while, and the mither greetin’ in the 
corner. 

“ ‘Will he never come?’ she cries, an’ a’ 
heard the soond o’ the horse’s feet on the road 
a mile awa in the frosty air. 

“ ‘The Lord be praised!’ said Burnbrae, 
and a’ slippit doon the ladder as the doctor 
came skelpin’ intae the close, the foam fleein’ 
frae his horse’s mooth. 

“ ‘Whar is he?’ wes a’ that passed his lips, 
an’ in five meenuts he hed him on the feedin’ 
board, and wes at his wark — sic wark, neeburs 
— but he did it week An’ ae thing a thocht 
rael thochtfu’ o’ him; he first sent aff the lad- 
die’s mither tae get a bed ready. 

“ ‘Noo that’s feenished, and his constitu- 
tion ’ill dae the rest,’ and he carried the lad 
doon the ladder in his airms like a bairn, and 
laid him in his bed, and waits aside him till 
he wes sleepin’, and then says he: ‘Burnbrae, 
yir a gey lad never tae say “Collie, will ye 
lick?” for a’ hevna tasted meat for saxteen 
hoors. ’ 

“It was michty tae see him come intae the 
yaird that day, neeburs; the verra look o’ 
him wes victory. ’ ’ 


174 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

Jamie’s cynicism slipped off in the enthu-^ 
siasm of this reminiscence, and he expressed 
the feeling of Drumtochty. No one sent for 
MacLure save in great straits, and the sight 
of him put courage in sinking hearts. But 
this was not by the grace of his appearance, 
or the advantage of a good bedside manner. 
A tall, gaunt, loosely made man, without an 
ounce of superfluous flesh on his body, his face 
burned a dark brick color by constant ex- 
posure to the weather, red hair and beard 
turning gray, honest blue eyes that look you 
ever in the face, huge hands with wrist bones 
like the shank of a ham, and a voice that 
hurled his salutations across two fields, he sug- 
gested the moor rather than the drawing-room. 
But what a clever hand it was in an operation 
— as delicate as a woman’s! and what a kindl}^ 
voice it was in the humble room where the 
shepherd’s wife was weeping by her man’s 
bed-side! He was “ill pitten thegither’’ to 
begin with, but many of his physical defects 
were the penalties of his work, and endeared 
him to the Glen. That ugly scar, that cut into 
his right eyebrow and gave him such a sinister 
expression, was got one night Jess slipped on 
the ice and laid him insensible eight miles 
from home. His limp marked the big snow- 
storm in the fifties, when his horse missed the 
road in Glen Urtach, and they rolled together 
in a drift. MacLure escaped with a broken 
leg and the fracture of three ribs, but he never 
walked like other men again. He could not 
swing himself into the saddle without making 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 175 


two attempts and holding Jess’s mane. 
Neither can you “warstle” through the peat 
bogs and snowdrifts for forty winters without a 
touch of rheumatism. But they were honor- 
able scars, and for such risks of life men get 
the Victoria Cross in other fields. MacLure 
got nothing but the secret affection of the 
Glen, which knew that none had ever done 
one-tenth as much for it as this ungainly, 
twisted, battered figure, and I have seen a 
Drumtochty face soften at the sight of Mac- 
Lure limping to his horse. 

Mr. Hopps earned the ill-will of the Glen 
forever by criticizing the doctor’s dress, but 
indeed it would have filled any townsman 
with amazement. Black he wore once a year, 
on Sacrament Sunday, and, if possible, at a 
funeral; topcoat or waterproof never. His 
jacket and waistcoat were rough homespun of 
Glen Urtach wool, which threw off the wet like 
a duck’s back, and below he was clad in shep- 
herd’s tartan trousers, which disappeared into 
unpolished riding boots. His shirt was gray 
flannel, and he was uncertain about a collar, 
but certain as to a tie — which he never had, his 
beard doing instead, and his hat was soft felt 
of four colors and seven different shapes. His 
point of distinction in dress was the trousers, 
and they were the subject of unending specu- 
lation. 

“Some threep that he’s worn thae eedentical 
pair the last twenty year, an’ a’ mind masel’ 
him gettin’ a tear ahint, when he was crossin’ 
oor palin’, and the mend’s still veesible. 


176 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


“Ithers declare ’at he’s got a wab o’ claith, 
and hes a new pair made in Muirtown aince in 
the twa year maybe, and keeps them in the 
garden till the new look wears aff. 

“For ma ain pairt,” Soutar used to declare, 
“a’ canna mak up my mind, but there’s ae 
thing sure, the Glen wudna like tae see him 
withoot them : it wud be a shock tae confidence. 
There’s no muckle o’ the check left, but ye can 
aye tell it, and when ye see thae breeks cornin’ 
in ye ken that if human pooer can save yir 
bairn’s life it ’ill be dune.” 

The confidence of the Glen — and tributary 
states — was unbounded, and rested partly on 
long experience of the doctor’s resources, and 
partly on his hereditary connection. 

“His father was here afore him,” Mrs. Mac- 
Fadyen used to explain ; “atween them they’ve 
hed the countryside for weel on tae a century ; 
if MacLure disna understand oor constitution, 
wha dis, a’ wud like tae ask?” 

For Drumtochty had its own constitution and 
a special throat disease, as became a parish 
which was quite self-contained between the 
woods and the hills, and not dependent on the 
lowlands either for its diseases or its doctors. 

“He’s a skilly man. Doctor MacLure,” con- 
tinued my friend, Mrs. MacFadyen, whose 
judgment on sermons or anything else was sel- 
dom at fault; “an* a kind-hearted, though o’ 
coorse he hes his faults like us a’, an’ he disna 
tribble the Kirk often. 

“He aye can tell what’s wrong wi’ a body, 
an’ maistly hecan put yericht, and there’s nae 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 177 


new-fangled wyswi’ him: a blister for the oot- 
side an’ Epsom salts for the inside dis his wark, 
an’ they say there’s no an herb on the hills he 
disna ken. 

“If we’re tae dee, we’re tae dee; an’ if we’re 
tae live, we’re tae live,’’ concluded Elspeth, 
with sound Calvanistic logic; “but a’ll say this 
for the doctor, that whether yir tae live or dee, 
he can aye keep up a sharp meisture on the 
skin. 

“But he’s no verra ceevil gin ye bring him 
when there’s naethin’ wrang, ” and Mrs. Mac- 
Fadyen’s face reflected another of Mr. Hopps’ 
misadventures of which Hillocks held the copy- 
right. 

“Hopps’ laddie ate grosarts [gooseberries] till 
they hed to sit up a’ nicht wi’ him, an’ naethin’ 
wud do but they maun hae the doctor, an’ he 
writes ‘immediately’ on a slip o’ paper. 

“Weel, MacLure had been awa’ a’ night wi’ 
a shepherd’s wife Dunleith wy, and he comes 
here withoot drawin’ bridle, mud up tae the 
een. 

“ ‘What’s adae here. Hillocks,’ he cries; 
‘it’s no an accident, is’t?’ and when he got 
aflf his horse he cud hardly stand wi’ stiffness 
and tire. 

“ ‘It’s nane o’ us, doctor; its Hopps’ laddie; 
he’s been eatin’ ower mony berries.’ 

“If he didna turn on me like a tiger. 

“ ‘Div ye mean tae say ’ 

“ ‘Weesht, weesht,’ an’ I tried tae quiet 
him, for Hopps wes coomin’ oot. 

“ ‘ Well, doctor, ’ begins he, as brisk as a mag- 

12 Brier Bush 


178 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


pie, ‘you're here at last; there’s no hurry with 
you Scotchmen. My boy has been sick all 
night, and I’ve never had a wink of sleep. You 
might have come a little quicker, that’s all I’ve 
got to say.’ 

“ ‘We’ve mair tae dae in Drumtochty than 
attend tae every bairn that hes a sair stomach, ’ 
and a’ saw MacLure was roosed. 

“ ‘I’m astonished to hear you speak. Our 
doctor at home always says to Mrs. ’Opps, 
“Look on me as a family friend, Mrs. ’Opps, 
and send for me though it be only a headache. ’ ’ ’ 

“ ‘He’d be mair spairin’ o’ his offers if he 
hed four and twenty miles tae look aifter. 
There's naethin’ wrang wi’ yir laddie but greed. 
Gie him a gude dose o’ castor oil and stop his 
meat for a day, an’ he’ill be a’ richt the mom. ’ 

“ ‘He’ill not take castor oil, doctor. We 
have given up those barbarous medicines. ’ 

“ ‘Whatna kind o’ medicines hae ye noo in 
the Sooth?’ 

“ ‘Well, you see, Dr. MacLure, we’re homoe- 
opathists, and I’ve my little chest here,’ and 
oot Hopps comes wi’ his boxy. 

“ ‘Let’s se’t, ’ an’ MacLure sits doon and 
taks oot the bit bottles, and he reads the names 
wi’ a lauch every time. 

“ ‘Belladonna; did ye ever hear the like? 
Aconite; it cowes a’. Nux Vomica. What 
next? Weel, ma mannie,’ he says tae Hopps, 
‘it’s a fine ploy, and ye ’ill better gang on wi’ 
the Nux till it’s dune, and gie him ony ither o’ 
the sweeties he fancies. 

“ ‘Noo, Hillocks, a’ maun be aff tae see 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 179 


Drumsheugli’s grieve, for he’s doon wi’ the 
fever, and it’s tae be a tench fecht. A’ hinna 
time tae wait for dinner; gie me some cheese 
an’ cake in ma hannd, and Jess ’ill take a pail 
o’ meal an’ water. 

‘‘ ‘Fee; a’ m no wantin' yir fees, man; wi’ that 
boxy ye dinna need a doctor; na, na, gie yir 
siller tae some puir body, Maister Hopps,’ an’ 
he was doon the road as hard as he cuk lick. ’ ’ 

His fees were pretty much what the folk 
chose to give him, and he collected them once 
a year at Kildrummie Fair. 

“Well, doctor, what am a’ awin’ ye for the 
wife and bairn? Ye ’ill need three notes for 
that nicht ye stayed in the hoose an’ a’ the 
veesits. ’’ 

“Havers,” MacLure would answer, “prices 
are low, a’m hearing; gie’s thirty shillings,” 

“No, a’ll no, or the wife ’ill tak ma ears 
off, ’ ’ and it was settled for two pounds. 

Lord Kilspindie gave him a free house and 
fields, and one way or other, Drumshcugh told 
me, the doctor might get in about -^150 sl year, 
out of which he had to pay his old house- 
keeper’s wages and a boy’s, and keep two 
horses, besides the cost of instruments and 
books, which he bought through a friend in 
Edinburgh with much judgment. 

There was only one man who ever com- 
plained of the doctor’s charges, and that was 
the new farmer of Milton, who was so good 
that he was above both churches, and held a 
meeting in his barn. (It was Milton the Glen 
supposed at first to be a Mormon, but I can't 


180 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


go into that now.) He offered MacLure a 
pound less than he asked, and two tracts, 
whereupon MacLure expressed his opinion of 
Milton, both from a theological and social 
standpoint, with such vigor and frankness that 
an attentive audience of Drumtochty men 
could hardly contain themselves. 

J amie Soutar was selling his pig at the time, 
and missed the meeting, but he hastened to 
condole with Milton, who was complaining 
everywhere of the doctor’s language. 

“Ye did richt tae resist him; it ’ill maybe 
roose the Glen tae mak a stand ; he fair hands 
them in bondage. 

“Thirty shillings for twal veesits, and him 
no mair than seeven mile awa, an’ a’m telt 
there werena mair than four at nicht. 

“Ye’ill hae the sympathy o’ the Glen, for 
a’body kens yir as free wi’ yir siller as yir 
tracts. 

“Wes’t ‘Beware o’ gude warks’ ye offered 
him? Man, ye chose it weel, for he’s been 
colleckin’ sae mony thae forty years, a’m 
feared for him. 

“A’ve often thocht oor doctor’s little better 
than the Gude Samaritan, an’ the Pharisees 
didna think muckle o’ his chance aither in this 
warld or that which is tae come.” 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 181 


11 . 

THROUGH THE FLOOD. 

Dr. MacLure did not lead a solemn proces- 
sion from the sick bed to the dining-room, and 
give his opinion from the hearthrug with an 
air of wisdom bordering on the supernatural, 
because neither Drumtochty houses nor his 
manners were on that large scale. He was 
accustomed to deliver himself in the yard, and 
to conclude his directions with one foot in the 
stirrup; but when he left the room where the 
life of Annie Mitchell was ebbing slowly away, 
our doctor said not one word, and at the sight 
of his face her husband’s heart was troubled. 

He was a dull man, Tammas, who could not 
read the meaning of a sign, and labored 
under a perpetual disability of speech; but 
love was eyes to him that day, and a mouth. 

“Is’t as bad as yir lookin’, doctor? Tell’s 
the truth. Wull Annie no come through?” 
and Tammas looked MacLure straight in the 
face, who never flinched his duty or said 
smooth things. 

“A’ wud gie ony thing tae say Annie has a 
chance, but a’ daurna; a’ doot yir gaein’ to 
lose her, Tammas.” 

MacLure was in the saddle, and as he gave 


182 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

his judgment, he laid his hand on Tammas’s 
shoulder with one of the rare caresses that pass 
between men. 

“It’s a sair business, but ye’ill play the man 
and no vex Annie; she’ill dae her best, a’ll 
warrant. ’ ’ 

“And a’ll dae mine,’’ and Tammas gave 
MacLure’s hand a grip that would have 
crushed the bones of a weakling. Drumtochty 
felt in such moments the brotherliness of this 
rough-looking man, and loved him. 

Tammas hid his face in Jess’s mane, who- 
looked round with sorrow in her beautiful eyes, 
for she had seen many tragedies, and in this 
silent sympathy the stricken man drank his 
cup, drop by drop. 

“A’ wesna prepared for this, for a’ aye thocht 
she wud live the langest. . . She’s younger 
than me by ten years, and never was ill. . . 
We’ve been mairit twal year last Martinmas, 
but it juist like a year the day. . . A’ wes 
never worthy o’ her, the bonniest, snoddest 
[neatest] kindliest lass in the Glen. . . A* 
never cud mak oot hoo she ever lookit at me,, 
’at hesna hed ae word tae say aboot her till it’s 
ower late. . . She didna cuist up to me that a* 
wesna worthy o’ her, no her, but aye she said, 
‘Yir ma ain gudeman, and nane cud be kinder 
tae me. ’ . . An’ a’ wes minded tae be kind, 
but a’ see noo mony little trokes a micht hae 
dune for her, and noo the time is bye. . . 
Naebody kens hoo patient she wes wi’ me, 
and aye made the best o’ me, an’ never pit 
me tae shame afore the fouk. . . An’ we never 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 183 


hed ae cross word, no ane in twal year. . . We 
were mair nor man and wife — we were sweet- 
hearts a’ the time. . . Oh, ma bonnie lass, 
what ’ill the bairnies an’ me dae without ye, 
Annie?” 

The winter night was falling fast, the snow 
lay deep upon the ground, and the merciless 
north wind moaned through the close as Tarn- 
mas wrestled with his sorrow dry-eyed, for 
tears were denied Drumtochty men. Neither 
the doctor nor Jess moved hand or foot, but 
their hearts were with their fellow-creature, 
and at length the doctor made a sign to Mar- 
get Howe, who had come out in search of 
Tammas, and now stood by his side. 

“Dinna mourn tae the brakin’ o’ yir hert, 
Tammas,” she said, “as if Annie an’ you hed 
never luved. Neither death nor time can 
pairt them that luve; there’s naething in a’ 
the warld sae strong as luve. If Annie gaes 
frae the sicht o’ yir een she ’ill come the nearer 
tae yir hert. She wants tae see ye, and tae 
hear ye say that ye ’ill never forget her nicht 
nor day till ye meet in the land where there’s 
nae pairtin’. Oh, a’ ken what a’m sayin,’ for 
it’s five year noo sin George gied awa, an’ 
he’s mair wi’ me noo than when he wes in 
Edinboro’ and I wes in Drumtochty.” 

“Thank ye kindly, Marget; thae are gude 
words and true, an’ ye hev the richt tae say 
them; but a’ canna dae without seein’ Annie 
cornin’ tae meet me in the gloamin’, an’ gaein’ 
in an’ oot the hoose, an’ bearin’ her ca’ me by 


184 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

ma name, an’ a’ll no can tell her that a’ luve 
her when there’s nae Annie in the hoose. 

“Can naethin’ be dune, doctor? Ye savit 
Flora Cammill, and young Burnbrae, an’ yon 
shepherd’s wife Dunleith wy, an’ we were a’ 
sae prood o’ ye, an’ pleased tae think that ye 
hed keepit deith frae anither hame. Can ye 
no think o’ somethin’ tae help Annie, and gie 
her back tae her man and bairnies?’’ and Tarn- 
mas searched the doctor's face in the cold, 
weird light. 

“There’s nae pooer in heaven or airth like 
luve,’’ Marget said tome afterward; “it maks 
the weak strong and the dumb tae speak. 
Oor herts were as water afore Tammas’s 
words, an’ a’ saw the doctor shake in his 
saddle. A’ never kent till that meenut hoo he 
hed a share in a ’body’s grief, an’ carried the 
heaviest wecht o’ a' the Glen. A’ peetied 
him wi’ Tammas lookin’ at him sae wistfully, 
as if he hed the keys o’ life an’ deith in his 
hands. But he wes honest, and wudna hold 
oot a false houp tae deceive a sore hert or 
win escape for himsel’.’’ 

“Ye needna plead wi’ me, Tammas, to dae 
the best a’ can for yir wife. Man, a’ kent 
her lang afore ye ever luved her; a’ brocht 
her intae the warld, and a’ saw her through the 
fever when she wes a bit lassikie; a’ closed her 
mither’s een, and it wes me hed tae tell her 
she wes an orphan, an’ nae man wes better 
pleased when she got a gude husband, and a’ 
helpit her wi’ her fower bairns. A’ve naither 
wife nor bairns o’ ma’ own, an’ a’ coont a’ the 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 185 


fouk o’ the Glen ma family. Div ye think a’ 
wudna save Annie if I cud? If there wes a 
man in Muirtown ’at cud dae mair for her, a’d 
have him this verra nicht, but a’ the doctors 
in Perthshire are helpless for this tribble. 

‘ ‘Tammas, ma puir fallow, if it could avail, a’ 
tell ye a’ wud lay doon this auld worn-oot 
ruckle o’ a body o’ mine juist tae see ye baith 
sittin’ at the fireside, an’ the bairns roond ye, 
couthy an’ canty again; but it’s no tae be, 
Tammas, it’^ no tae be. ” 

“When a’ lookit at the doctor’s face,” Mar- 
get said, “a’ thocht him the winsomest man a’ 
ever saw. He wes transfigured that nicht, for 
a’m judging there’s nae transfiguration like 
luve. ” 

“It’s God’s wull an’ maun be borne, but it’s a 
sair wull fur me, an’ a’m no ungratefu’ tae 
you, doctor, for a’ ye’ve dune and what ye said 
the nicht,” and Tammas went back to sit 
with Annie for the last time. 

Jess picked her way through the deep snow 
to the main road, with a skill that came of long 
experience, and the doctor held converse with 
her according to his wont. 

“Eh, Jess, wumman, yon wes the hardest 
wark a’ hae tae face, and a’ wud raither hae 
ta’en ma chance o’ anither row in a Glen 
Urtach drift than tell Tammas Mitchell his 
wife wes deein’. 

“A’ said she cudna be cured, and it wes true, 
for there’s juist ae man in the land fit for’t, 
and they micht as well try tae get the mune 
oot o’ heaven. Sae a’ said naethin’ tae vex 


186 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


Tammas’s hert, for it’s heavy eneuch withoot 
regrets. 

“But it’s hard, Jess, that money wull buy 
life after a’, an’ if Annie wes a duchess her 
man wudna lose her; but bein’ only a puir 
cottar’s wife, she maun dee afore the week’s 
oot. 

“Gin we hed him the morn there’s little doot 
she wud be saved, for he hesna lost mair than 
five per cent, o’ his cases, and they’ill be puir 
toon’s craturs, no strappin’ women like Annie. 

“It’s oot o’ the question, Jess, sae hurry up, 
lass, for we’ve hed a heavy day. But it wud 
be the grandest thing that was ever dune in 
the Glen in oor time if it could be managed by 
hook or crook. 

“We’ll gang and see Drumsheugh, Jess; he’s 
anither man sin’ Geordie Hoo’s deith, and 
he wes aye kinder than fouk kent;’’ and the 
doctor passed at a gallop through the village, 
whose lights shone across the white frost- 
bound road. 

“Come in by, doctor; a’ heard ye on the 
road; ye’ill hae been at Tammas Mitchell’s; 
hoo’s the gudewife? a’doot she’s sober.” 

“Annie’s deein’, Drumsheugh, an’ Tammas 
is like tae brak his hert. ’ ’ 

“That’s no lichtsome, doctor, no lichtsome, 
ava, for a’ dinna ken ony man in Drumtochty 
sae bund up in his wife as Tammas, and there’s 
no a bonnier wumman o’ her age crosses oor 
kirk door than Annie, nor a cleverer at her 
wark. Man, ye’ill need tae pit yir brains in 
5teep. Is she clean beyond ye?” 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 187 


“Beyond me and every ither in the land but 
ane, and it wud cost a hundred guineas tae 
bring him tae Drumtochty. ” 

“Certes, he’s no blate; it’s a fell chairge for 
a short day’s work; but hundred or no hun- 
dred we ’ill hae him, and no let Annie gang, 
and her no half her years. ” 

“Are ye meanin’ it, Drumsheugh?” and 
MacLure turned white below the tan. 

“William MacLure,” said Drumsheugh, in 
one of the few confidences that ever broke 
the Drumtochty reserve, “a’m a lonely man, 
wi’ naebody o’ ma ain blude tae care for me 
livin’, or tae lift me intae ma coffin when a’m 
deid. 

“A’ fecht awa at Muirtown market for an 
extra pund on a beast, or a shillin’ on the 
quarter o’ barley, an’ what’s the gude o’t? 
Burnbrae gaes aff tae get a goon for his wife 
or a buke for his college laddie, an’ Lachlan 
Campbell ill no leave the place noo withoot 
a ribbon for Flora. 

“Ilka man in the Kildrummie train has some 
bit fairin’ in his pooch for the fouk at hame 
that he’s bocht wi’ the siller he won. 

“But there’s naebody tae be lookin’ oot for 
me an’ cornin’ doon the road tae meet me, and 
daffin’ [joking] wi’ me aboot their fairing, or 
feeling ma pockets. Ou, ay! a’ve seen it a’ at 
ither hooses, though they tried tae hide it frae 
me for fear a’ wud lauch at them. Me lauch, 
wi’ ma cauld, empty hame! 

“Yir the only man kens, Weelum, that I 
aince luved the noblest wumman in the glen 


188 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


or onywhere, an’ a’ luve her still, but wi’ 
anither luve noo. 

“She hed given her heart tae anither, or 
a’ve thocht a’ micht hae won her, though nae 
man be worthy o’ sic a gift. Ma hert turned 
tae bitterness, but that passed awa beside the 
brier bush whar George Hoo lay yon sad sim- 
mer time. Some day a’ll tell ye ma story, 
Weelum, for you an’ me are auld f reends, and 
will be till we dee. ’ ’ 

MacLure felt beneath the table for Drums- 
heugh’s hand, but neither man looked at the 
other. 

“Weel, a’ we can dae noo, Weelum, gin we 
haena mickle brightness in oor ain hames, 
is tae keep the licht frae gaein’ oot in anither 
hoose. Write the telegram, man, and Sandy 
’ill send it aff frae Kildrummie this verra 
nicht, and ye’ill hae yir man the morn.” 

“Yir the man a’ coonted ye, Drumsheugh, 
but ye’ill grant me ae favor. Ye’ill lat me 
pay the half, bit by bit — a’ ken yir wullin’ tae 
dae’t a’ — but a’ haena mony pleesures, an’ a’ 
wud like tae hae ma ain share in savin’ 
Annie’s life. ” 

Next morning a figure received Sir George 
on the Kildrummie platform, whom that 
famous surgeon took for a gillie, but who 
introduced himself as “MacLure of Drum- 
tochty. ’ ’ It seemed as if the East had come 
to meet the West when these two stood 
together, the one in traveling furs, handsome 
and distinguished, with his strong, cultured 
face and carriage of authority, a characteristic 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 189 


type of his profession; and the other more 
marvelously dressed than ever, for Drums- 
heugh’s topcoat had been forced upon him 
for the occasion, his face and neck one redness 
with the bitter cold ; rough and ungainly, yet 
not without some signs of power in his eye and 
voice, the most heroic type of his noble pro- 
fession. MacLure compassed the precious 
arrival with observances till he was securely 
seated in Drumsheugh’s dogcart — a vehicle 
that lent itself to history — with two full-sized 
plaids added to his equipment — Drumsheugh 
and Hillocks had both been requisitioned — 
and MacLure wrapped another plaid round a 
leather case, which was placed below the seat 
with such reverence as might be given to the 
Queen’s regalia. Peter attended their depart- 
ure full of interest, and as soon as they were 
in the fir woods MacLure explained that it 
would be an eventful journey. 

“It’s a’ richt in here, for the wind disna get 
at the snaw, but the drifts are deep in the 
Glen, and th’ill be some engineerin’ afore we 
get tae oor destination. ’’ 

Four times they left the road and took their 
way over fields; twice they forced a passage 
through a slap in a dyke ; thrice they used gaps 
in the paling which MacLure had made on his 
downward journey. 

“A’ seleckit the road this mornin’, an’ a’ 
ken the depth tae an inch ; we’ill get through 
this steadin’ here tae the main road, but oor 
worst job ’ill be crossin’ the Tochty. 

“Ye see the bridge hes been shakin’ wi’ this 


190 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


winter’s flood, and we daurna venture on it, 
sae we hev tae ford, and the snaw’s been melt- 
ing up Urtach way. There’s nae doot the 
water’s gey big, and it’s threatenin’ tae rise, 
but we’ill win through wi’ a warstle. 

“It micht be safer tae lift the instruments 
oot o’ reach o’ the water; wud ye mind had- 
din’ them on yir knee till we’re ower, an’ keep 
firm in yir seat in case we come on a stane in 
the bed o’ the river.” 

By this time they had come to the edge, and 
it was not a cheering sight. The Tochty had 
spread out over the meadows, and while they 
waited they could see it cover another two 
inches on the trunk of a tree. There are 
summer floods, when the water is brown and 
flecked with foam, but this was a winter flood, 
which is black and sullen, and runs in the 
center with a strong, fierce, silent Current. 
Upon the opposite side Hillocks stood to give 
directions by word and hand, as the ford was 
on his land, and none knew the Tochty better 
in all its ways. 

They passed through the shallow water 
without mishap, save when the wheel struck a 
hidden stone or fell suddenly into a rut; but 
when they neared the body of the river Mac- 
Lure halted, to give Jess a minute’s breath- 
ing. 

“It ’ill tak ye a’ yir time, lass, an’ a’ wud 
raither be on yir back; but ye never failed me 
yet, and a wumman’s life is hangin’ on the 
crossin’. ” 

With the first plunge into the bed of the 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 191 

Stream the water rose to the axles, and then it 
crept up to the shafts, so that the surgeon 
could feel it lapping in about his feet, while 
the dogcart began to quiver, and it seemed as 
if it were to be carried away. Sir George 
was as brave as most men, but he had never 
forded a Highland river in flood, and the mass 
of black water racing past beneath, before, 
behind him, affected his imagination and shook 
his nerves. He rose from his seat and 
ordered MacLure to turn back, declaring that 
he would be condemned utterly and eternally 
if he allowed himself to be drowned for any 
person. 

“Sit doon!” thundered MacLure. “Con- 
demned ye will be, suner or later, gin ye shirk 
yir duty, but through the water ye gang the 
day. ’ ’ 

Both men spoke much more strongly and 
shortly, but this is what they intended to say, 
and it was MacLure that prevailed. 

Jess trailed her feet along the ground with 
cunning art, and held her shoulder against 
the stream ; MacLure leant forward in his seat, 
a rein in each hand, and his eye fixed on Hil- 
locks, who was now standing up to the waist 
in the water, shouting directions and cheering 
on horse and driver. 

“Hand tae the richt, doctor; there’s a hole 
yonder. Keep oot o’t for ony sake. That’s it; 
yir daein’ fine. Steady, man, steady. Yir 
at the deepest; sit heavy in yir seats. Up the 
channel noo, andye’illbeoot o’ the swirl. Weel 
dune, Jess, weel dune, auld mare! Makstraicht 


192 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


for me, doctor, an’ a’ 11 gie ye the road oot 
Ma word, ye’ve dune yir best, baith o’ ye, this 
mornin’,” cried Hillocks, splashing up to the 
dogcart, now in the shallows. 

“Sail, it wes titch an’ go for a meenut in the 
middle; a Hielan’ ford is a kittle [hazardous] 
road in the snaw time, but ye’re safe noo. 

“Gude luck tae ye up at Westerton, sir; 
nane but a richt-hearted man wud hae riskit 
the Tochty in flood. Ye're boond tae succeed 
aifter sic a graund beginnin’, ’’ for it had spread 
already that a famous surgeon had come to do 
his best for Annie, Tammas Mitchell’s wife. 

Two hours later MacLure came out from 
Annie’s room and laid hold of Tammas, a heap 
of speechless misery by the kitchen fire, and 
carried him off to the. barn, and spread some 
corn on the threshing floor and thrust a flail 
into his hands. 

“Noo we’ve tae begin, an’ we’ill no be dune 
for an’ oor, and ye’ve tae lay on withoot stop- 
pin’ till a’ come for ye, an’ a’ll shut the door 
tae haud in the noise, an’ keep yir dog beside 
ye, for there maunna be a cheep aboot the 
hoose for Annie’s sake. ’’ 

“A’ll dae onything ye want me, but if — 
if ’’ 

“A’ll come for ye, Tammas, gin there be 
danger; but what are ye feared for wi’ the 
Queen’s ain surgeon here?” 

Fifty minutes did the flail rise and fall, save 
twice, when Tammas crept to the door and 
listened, the dog lifting his head and whining. 

It seemed twelve hours insteao of one when 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 193 


the door swung back, and MacLure filled the 
doorway, preceded by a great burst of light, 
for the sun had arisen on the snow. 

His face was as tidings of great joy, and 
Elspeth told me that there was nothing like 
it to be seen that afternoon for glory, save the 
sun itself in the heavens. 

“A’ never saw the marrow o’t, Tammas, an* 
a’ll never see the like again ; it’s a’ ower, man, 
withoot a hitch frae beginnin’ tae end, and 
she’s fa’in’ asleep as fine as ye like.” 

“Dis he think Annie — ’ill live?” 

“Of coorse he dis, and be aboot the hoose 
inside a month ; that’s the gude o’ bein’ a clean- 
bluided, weel-livin’ — 

“Preserve ye, man, what’s wrangwi’ ye? It’s 
a mercy a’ keppit ye, or we wud hev hed 
anither job for Sir George. 

“Ye’re a’ richt noo; sit doon on the strae. 
A’ll come back in a whilie, an’ ye’ill see 
Annie, juist for a meenut, but ye maunna say 
a word. ’ ’ 

Marget took him in and let him kneel by 
Annie’s bedside. 

He said nothing then or afterward, for 
speech came only once in his lifetime to Tam- 
mas, but Annie whispered, “Ma ain dear 
man. ” 

When the doctor placed the precious bag 
beside Sir George in our solitary first next 
morning, he laid a check beside it and was 
about to leave. 

“No, no!” said the great man. “Mrs. Mac- 
fadyen and I were on the gossip last night, and 

18 Brier Bush 


194 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


I know the whole story about you and your 
friend. 

“You have some right to call me a coward, 
but I’ll never let you count me a mean, miserly 
rascal,” and the check with Drumsheugh’s 
painful writing fell in fifty pieces on the floor. 

As the train began to move, a voice from the 
first called so that all in the station heard. 

“Give’s another shake of your hand, Mac- 
Lure; I’m proud to have met you; you are an 
honour to our profession. Mind the anti- 
septic dressings. ’ ’ 

It was market day, but only Jamie Soutar 
and Hillocks had ventured down. 

“Did ye hear yon. Hillocks? Hoo dae ye 
feel? A’ll no deny a’m lifted.’’ 

Halfway to the Junction Hillocks had recov- 
ered, and began to grasp the situation. 

“Tell’s what he said. A’ wud like to hae it 
exact for Drumsheugh. ” 

“Thae’s the eedentical words, an’ they’re 
true; there’s no a man in Drumtochty disna 
ken that, except ane. ” 

“An’ wha’s that, Jamie?” 

“It’s Weellum MacLure himsel’. Man, a’ve 
often girned that he sud fecht awa for us a’, 
and maybe dee before he kent that he hed 
githered mair luve than ony man in the Glen. 

“ ‘A’m prood tae hae met ye,’ says Sir 
George, an’ him the greatest doctor in the land. 

’ Yir an honour tae oor profession. ’ 

“Hillocks, a’ wudna hae missed it for twenty 
notes, ” said J amie Soutar, cynic-in-ordinary to 
the parish of Drumtochty. 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 195 


III. 

A FIGHT WITH DEATH. 

When Drumsheugh’s grieve was brought to 
the gates of death by fever, caught, as was 
supposed, on an adventurous visit to Glasgow, 
the London doctor at Lord Kilspindie’s shoot- 
ing lodge looked in on his way from the moor, 
and declared it impossible for Saunders to live 
through the night. 

“I give him six hours, more or less; it is 
only a question of time, ’ ’ said the oracle, but- 
toning his gloves and getting into the brake. 
“Tell your parish doctor that I was sorry not 
to have met him. ” 

Bell heard this verdict from behind the door, 
and gave way utterly, but Drumsheugh de- 
clined to accept it as final, and devoted himself 
to consolation. 

“Dinna greet like that. Bell, wumman, sae 
lang as Saunders is still livin’ ; a’ll never give 
up houp, for ma pairt, till oor ain man says the 
word. 

“A’ the doctors in the land dinna ken as 
muckle aboot us as Weelum MacLure, an’ he’s 
ill tae beat when he’s tryin’ tae save a man’s 
life.” 

MacLure, on his coming, would say nothing, 


196 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

either weal or woe, till he had examined Saun- 
ders. Suddenly his face turned into iron be- 
fore their eyes, and he looked like one encoun- 
tering a merciless foe. For there was a feud 
between MacLure and a certain mighty power 
which had lasted for forty years in Drumtochty. 

“The London doctor said that Saunders wud 
sough awa’ afore mornin’, did he? Weel, he’s 
an’ authority on fevers an’ sic like diseases, 
an’ ought tae ken. 

“It’s may be presumptuous o’ me tae differ 
frae him, and it wudna be verra respectfu’ o’ 
Saunders tae live aifter this opeenion. But 
Saunders wes aye thraun an’ ill tae drive, an’ 
he’s as like as no tae gang his ain gait. 

“A’m no meanin’ tae reflect on sae clever a 
man, but he didna ken the seetuation. He 
can read fevers like a buik, but he never cam’ 
across sic a thing as the Drumtochty constitu- 
tion a’ his days. 

“Ye see, when onybody gets as low as puir 
Saunders here, it’s a juist a hand-to-hand 
wrastle atween the fever and his constitution, 
an’ of course, if he hed been a shilpit, stun tit, 
feckless effeegy o’ a cratur, fed on tea an’ 
made dishes and pushioned wi’ bad air, Saun- 
ders wud hae nae chance ; he wes boond tae 
gae out like the snuff o’ a candle. 

“But Saunders has been fillin’ his lungs for 
five and thirty year wi’ strong Drumtochty air, 
an’ eatin’ naethin’ but kirny aitmeal, and 
drinkin’ naethin’ but fresh milk frae the coo, 
an’ followin’ the ploo through the new- turned, 
sweet-smellin’ earth, an’ swingin’ the scythe in 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 197 


hay time and harvest, till the legs an’ airms o’ 
him were iron, an’ his chest wes like the cut- 
tin’ o’ an oak tree, 

“He’s a waesome sicht the nicht, but Saun- 
ders wes a buirdly man aince, and wull never 
lat his life be taken lichtly frae him. Na, na; 
he hesna sinned against Nature, and Nature 
’ill stand by him noo in his oor o’ distress. 

“A’ daurna say yea, Bell, muckle as a’ wud 
like, for this is an evil disease, cunnin’ an’ 
treacherous as the deevil himsel’, but a’ winna 
say nay, sae keep yir hert frae despair. 

“It wull be a sair fecht, but it ’ill be settled 
one wy or anither by six o’clock the morn’s 
morn. Nae man can prophecee hoo it ’ill end, 
but ae thing is certain, aTl no see Deith take 
a Drumtochty man afore his time if a’ can help 
it. 

“Noo, Bell, ma wumman, yir near deid wi’ 
tire, an’ nae wonder. Ye’ve dune a’ ye cud 
for yir man an’ ye’ll lippen [trust] him the 
nicht tae Drumsheugh an’ me; we’ill no fail 
him or you. 

“Lie doon an’ rest, an’ if it be the wull o’ 
the Almichty a’ll wauken ye in the mornin’ 
tae see a livin’, conscious man, an’ if it be 
itherwise a’ll come for ye the suner. Bell,’’ 
and the big red hand went out to the anxious 
wife. “A’ gie ye ma word.’’ 

Bell leant over the bed, and at the sight of 
Saunders’ face a superstitious dread seized 
her. 

“See, doctor, the shadow of deith is on him 
that never lifts. A’ve seen it afore, on ma 


198 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

father an’ mither. A’ canna leave him; a’ 
canna leave him!” 

‘‘It’s hoverin’, Bell, but it hesna fallen; 
please God it never wull. Gang but and get 
some sleep, for it’s time we were at oor wark. 

‘‘The doctors in the toons hae nurses an’ a’ 
kinds o’ handy apparatus,” said Mac Lure to 
Drumsheugh when Bell had gone, ‘‘but you 
an’ me ’ill need tae be nurse the nicht, an’ use 
sic things as we hev. 

‘‘It ’ill be a lang nicht and anxious wark, but 
a’ wud raither hae ye, auld freend, wi’ me than 
ony man in the Glen. Ye’re no feared tae gie 
a hand?” 

‘‘Me feared? No likely. Man, Saunders 
cam’ tae me a haflin, an’ hes been on Drums- 
heugh for twenty years, an’ though he be a 
dour chiel, he’s a faithfu’ servant as ever 
lived. It’s waesome tae see him lyin’ there 
moanin’ like some dumb animal frae mornin’ 
to nicht, an’ no able tae answer his ain wife 
when she speaks. 

“Div ye think, Weelum, he hes a chance?” 

“That he hes, at ony rate, and it ’ill no be 
your blame or mine if he hesna mair. ’ ’ 

While he was speaking, MacLure took off his 
coat and waistcoat and hung them on the back 
of the door. Then he rolled up the sleeves of 
his shirt and laid bare two arms that were 
nothing but bone and muscle. 

“It gar’d ma very blood rin faster tae the 
end of ma fingers juist tae look at him,” 
Drumsheugh expatiated afterward to Hil- 
locks, “for a’ saw noo that there was tae be a 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 199 

Stand-Up fecht atween him an’ Deith for Saun- 
ders, and when a’ thocht o’ Bell an’ her bairns, 
a’ kent wha wud win. 

“ ‘Aff wi’ yir coat, Drumsheugh,’ said Mac- 
Lure; ‘ye ’ill need tae bend yir back the nicht; 
gither a’ the pails in the hoose and fill them at 
the spring, an’ a’ll come doon tae help ye wi’ 
the carryin’.’ ” 

It was a wonderful ascent up the steep path- 
way from the spring to the cottage on its little 
knoll, the two men in single file, bareheaded, 
silent, solemn, each with a pail of water in 
either hand, MacLure limping painfully in 
front, Drumsheugh blowing behind ; and when 
they laid down their burden in the sick room, 
where the bits of furniture had been put to a 
side and a large tub held the center, £)rums- 
heugh looked curiously at the doctor. 

“No, a’m no daft; ye needna be feared; but 
yir tae get yir first lesson in medicine the 
nicht, an’ if we win the battle ye can set up 
for yersel’ in the Glen. 

“There’s twa dangers — that Saunders’ 
strength fails, an’ that the force o’ the fever 
grows; and we have juist twa weapons. 

“Yon milk on the drawers’ head an’ the bot- 
tle of whisky is tae keep up the strength, and 
this cool caller water is tae keep doon the 
fever. 

“We’ill cast oot the fever by the virtue o’ 
the earth an’ the water.’’ 

“Div ye mean tae pit Saunders in the tub?*^’ 

“Ye hiv it noo, Drumsheugh, and that’s hoo 
a’ need yir help. ’’ 


200 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


“Man, Hillocks,’’ Drumsheugh used to mor- 
alize, as often as he remembered that critical 
night, “it wes humblin’ tae see how low sick- 
ness can bring a pooerfu’ man, an’ ocht tae 
keep us frae pride. 

“A month syne there wesna a stronger man 
in the Glen than Saunders, an’ noo he wes 
juist a bundle o’ skin and bone, that naither 
saw nor heard, nor moved nor felt, that kent 
naethin’ that was dune tae him. 

“Hillocks, a’ wudna hae wished ony man 
tae hev seen Saunders — for it wull never pass 
frae before ma een as long as a’ live — but a’ 
wish a’ the Glen hed stude by MacLure kneel- 
in’ on the floor wi’ his sleeves up tae his ox- 
ters and waitin’ on Saunders. 

“Yon big man wes as pitifu’ an’ gentle as a 
wumman, and when he laid the puir fallow in 
his bed again, he happit him ower as a mither 
dis her bairn.” 

Thrice it was done, Drumsheugh ever bring- 
ing up colder water from the spring, and twice 
MacLure was silent; but after the third time 
there was a gleam in his eye. 

“We’re handin’ oor ain; we’re no bein’ 
maistered, at ony rate; mair a’ canna say for 
three oors. 

“We ’ill no need the water again, Drums- 
heugh, gae oot and tak a breath o’ air; a’m 
on gaird masel’.’’ 

It was the hour before daybreak, and Drums- 
heugh wandered through fields he had trod- 
den since childhood. The cattle lay sleeping 
in the pastures; their shadowy forms, with a 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 201 


patch of whiteness here and there, having- a 
weird suggestion of death. He heard the burn 
running over the stones; fifty years ago he had 
made a dam that lasted till winter. The hoot- 
ing of an owl made him start; one had fright- 
ened him as a boy so that he ran home to his 
mother — she died thirty years ago. The smell 
of ripe corn filled the air; it would soon be cut 
and garnered. He could see the dim outlines 
of his house, all dark and cold ; no one he loved 
was beneath the roof. The lighted window in 
Saunders’ cottage told where a man hung be- 
tween life and death, but love was in that 
home. The futility of life arose before this 
lonely man, and overcame his heart with an 
indescribable sadness. What a vanity was all 
human labor; what a mystery all human life! 

But while he stood, a subtle change came 
over the night, and the air trembled round him 
as if one had whispered. Drumsheugh lifted 
his head and looked eastward. A faint gray 
stole over the distant horizon, and suddenly a 
cloud reddened before his eyes. The sun was 
not in sight, but was rising, and sending fore- 
runners before his face. The cattle began to 
stir, a blackbird burst into song, and before 
Drumsheugh crossed the threshold of Saun- 
ders’ house, the first ray of the sun had broken 
on a peak of the Grampians. 

MacLure left the bedside, and as the light of 
the candle fell on the doctor’s face, Drums- 
heugh could see that it was going well with 
Saunders. 

“He’s nae waur; an’ it’s half six noo; it’s 


202 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

ower sune tae say mair, but a’m houpin’ for 
the best. Sit doon and take a sleep, for ye’re 
needin' ’t, Drumsheugh, an’, man, ye hae 
worked for it. ” 

As he dozed off, the last thing Drumsheugh 
saw was the doctor sitting erect in his chair, a 
clenched fist resting on the bed, and his eyes 
already bright with the vision of victory. 

He awoke with a start to find the room 
flooded with the morning sunshine, and every 
trace of last night’s work removed. 

The doctor was bending over the bed, and 
speaking to Saunders. 

“It’s me, Saunders; Doctor MacLure, ye 
ken; dinna try tae speak or move; juist let 
this drap milk slip ower — ye ’ill be needin' yir 
breakfast, lad — and gang tae sleep again.” 

Five minutes, and Saunders had fallen into 
a deep, healthy sleep, all tossing and moaning 
come to an end. Then MacLure stepped softly 
across the floor, picked up his coat and waist- 
coat, and went out at the door. 

Drumsheugh arose and followed him without 
a word. They passed through the little gar- 
den, sparkling with dew, and beside the byre, 
where Hawkie rattled her chain, impatient for 
Bell’s coming, and by Saunders’ little strip of 
corn ready for the scythe, till they reached an 
open field. There they came to a halt, and 
Dr. MacLure for once allowed himself to go. 

His coat he flung east and his waistcoat west, 
as far as he could hurl them, and it was plain 
he would have shouted had he been a complete 
mile from Saunders’ room. Any less distance 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 203 


was useless for adequate expression. He 
struck Drumsheugh a mighty blow that well- 
nigh leveled that substantial man in the dust, 
and then the doctor of Drumtochty issued his 
bulletin. 

“Saunders wesna tae live through the nicht, 
but he’s livin’ this meenut, an’ like to live. 

“He’s got by the warst clean and fair, and 
wi’ him that’s as good as cure. 

“It ’ill be a graund waukenin’ for Bell; 
she ’ill no be a weedow yet, nor the bairnies 
fatherless. 

“There’s nae use glowerin’ at me, Drums- 
heugh, for a body’s daft at a time, an’ a’ 
canna contain masel’, and a’m no gaein’ tae 
try. ’ ’ 

Then it dawned upon Drumsheugh that the 
doctor was attempting the Highland fling. 

“He’s ill made, tae begin wi’,” Drumsheugh 
explained in the kirkyard next Sabbath, “and 
ye ken he’s been terrible mishannelled by acci- 
dents, sae ye may think what like it wes, but, 
as sure as deith, o’ a’ the Hielan’ flings a’ ever 
saw yon wes the bonniest. 

“A’ hevna shaken ma ain legs for thirty 
years, but a’ confess tae a turn masel’. Ye 
may lauch an’ ye like, neeburs, but the thocht 
o’ Bell an’ the news that wes waitin’ her got 
the better o’ me. ’’ 

Drumtochty did not laugh. Drumtochty 
looked as if it could have done quite otherwise 
for joy. 

“A’ wud hae made a third gin a’ hed been 
there,” announced Hillocks aggressively. 


204 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


“Come on, Drumsheugh, ” said Jamie Sou- 
tar, “gie’s the end o’t; it wes a michty morn- 
in’.” 

“ ‘We’re twa auld fules,’ says MacLure tae 
me, as he gaithers up his claithes. ‘It wud 
set us better tae be tellin’ Bell.’ 

“She was sleepin’ on the top b’ her bed 
wrapped in a plaid, fair worn oot wi’ three 
weeks’ nursin’ o’ Saunders, but at the first 
touch she was oot upon the floor. 

“ ‘Is Saunders deein’, doctor?’ she cries. 
‘Ye promised tae wauken me; dinna tell me 
it’s a’ ower. ’ 

“ ‘There’s nae deein’ aboot him, Bell: ye’re 
no tae lose yir man this time, sae far as a’ can 
see. Come ben an’ jidge for yerseT. ’ 

“Bell lookit at Saunders, and the tears of joy 
fell on the bed like rain. 

“ ‘The shadow’s lifted,’ she said: ‘he’s come 
back frae the mooth o’ the tomb. 

“ ‘A’ prayed last nicht that the Lord wud 
leave Saunders till the laddies cud dae for 
themselves, an’ thae words came intae ma 
mind “Weepin’ may endure for a nicht, but 
joy Cometh in the mornin’.” 

“ ‘The Lord heard ma prayer, and joy hes 
come in the mornin’,’ an’ she gripped the 
doctor’s hand. 

“ ‘Ye’ve been the instrument, Doctor Mac- 
Lure. Ye wudna gie him up, and ye did what 
nae ither cud for him, an’ a’ve ma man the 
day, and the bairns hae their father. ’ 

“An’ afore MacLure kent what she was 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 205 

daein’, Bell lifted his hand to her lips an’ 
kissed it. ” 

“Did she, though?” cried Jamie. “Wha 
wud hae thocht there wes as muckle spunk in 
Bell?” 

“MacLure, of coorse, was clean scandal- 
ized,” continued Drumsheugh, “an’ pooed 
awa’ his hand as if it hed been burned. 

“Nae man can thole that kind o’ fraikin’, 
and a’ never heard o’ sic a thing in the parish, 
but we maun excuse Bell, neeburs; it wes an 
occasion by ordinar, ’ ’ and Drumsheugh made 
Bell’s apology to Drumtochty for such an 
excess of feeling. 

“A’ see naethin’ tae excuse,” insisted Jamie, 
who was in great fettle that Sabbath; “the 
doctor hes never been burdened wi’ fees, and 
a’m judgin’ he coon ted a wumman’s gratitude 
that he saved frae weedowhood the best he 
ever got. ’ ’ 

“A’ gaed tae the Manse last nicht,” con- 
cluded Drumsheugh, “an’ telt the minister hoo 
the doctor focht aucht oors for Saunders’ life, 
an’ v/on, an’ ye never saw a man sae carried. 
He walkit up an’ doon the room a* the time, 
and every other meenut he blew his nose like 
a trumpet. 

“ ‘I’ve a cold in my head to-night, Drums- 
heugh,’ says he; ‘never mind me.’ ” 

“A’ve hed the same masel’ in sic circum- 
stances; they come on sudden,” said Jamie. 

“A’ wager there ’ill be a new bit in the laist 
prayer the day, an’ somethin’ worth bear- 
in’.” 


206 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

And the fathers went into kirk in great 
expectation. 

“We beseech Thee for such as be sick, that 
Thy hand may be on them for good, and that 
Thou wouldst restore them again to health and 
strength, ’ ’ was the familiar petition of every 
Sabbath. 

The congregation waited in a silence that 
might be heard, and were not disappointed that 
morning, for the minister continued: 

“Especially we tender Thee hearty thanks 
that Thou didst spare Thy servant who was 
brought down into the dust of death, and hast 
given him back to his wife and children, and 
unto that end didst wonderfully bless the skill 
of him who goes out and in amongst us, the 
beloved physician of this parish and adjacent 
districts. ’’ 

“Didna a’ tell ye, neeburs?” said Jamie, 
as they stood at the kirkyard gate before dis- 
persing; “there’s no a man in the coonty 
cud hae dune it better. ‘Beloved physician,' 
an’ his ‘skill,’ tae, an’ bringing in ‘adjacent 
districts’; that’s Glen Urtach; it wes hand- 
some, and the doctor earned it, ay, every word. 

“It’s an awfu’ peety he didna hear yon; but 
dear knows whar he is the day, maist likely 
up 

Jamie stopped suddenly at the sound of a 
horse’s feet, and there, coming down the ave- 
nue of beech trees that made a long vista from 
the kirk gate, they saw the doctor and Jess. 

One thought flashed through the minds of 
the fathers of the commonwealth. 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 207 


It ought to be done as he passed, and it 
would be done if it were not Sabbath. Of 
course it was out of the question on Sabbath. 

The doctor is now distinctly visible, riding 
after his fashion. 

There was never such a chance, if it were 
only Saturday; and each man reads his own 
regret in his neighbor’s face. 

The doctor is nearing them rapidly; they 
can imagine the shepherd’s tartan. 

Sabbath or no Sabbath, the Glen cannot let 
him pass without some tribute of their pride. 

Jess has recognized friends, and the doctor 
is drawing rein. 

‘ ‘ It hes tae be dune, ’ ’ said J amie desperately, 
“say what ye like.’’ Then they all looked 
toward him, and Jamie led. 

“Hurrah!’’ swinging his Sabbath hat in the 
air, “hurrah!” and once more, “hurrah!” 
Whinnie Knowe, Drumsheugh, and Hillocks 
joining lustily, but Tammas Mitchell carrying 
all before him, for he had found at last an 
expression for his feelings that rendered 
speech unnecessary. 

It was a solitary experience for horse and 
rider, and Jess bolted without delay. But the 
sound followed and surrounded them, and as 
they passed the corner of the kirkyard, a 
figure waved his college cap over the wall 
and gave a cheer on his own account. 

“God bless you, doctor, and well done!” 

“If it isnathe minister,” cried DrumsheugU, 
“in his goon an’ bans; tae think o’ that; but 
a’ respeck him for it.” 


208 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

Then Drumtochty became self-conscious and 
went home in confusion of face and unbroken 
silence, except Jamie Soutar, who faced his 
neighbors at the parting of the ways without 
shame. 

“A wud dae it a’ ower again if a’ hed the 
chance; he got naethin’ but his due.” 

It was two miles before Jess composed her 
mind, and the doctor and she could discuss it 
quietly together. 

“A can hardly believe ma ears, Jess, an’ the 
Sabbath tae; their verra jidgment hes gane 
frae the fouk o’ Drumtochty. 

“They’ve heard about Saunders, a’m think- 
in’, wumman, and they’re pleased we brocht 
him roond; he’s fairly on the mend, ye ken, 
noo. 

“A’ never expeckit the like o’ this, though, 
and it wes juist a wee thingie mair than a’ cud 
hae stude. 

“Ye hev yir share in’t tae, lass; we’ve hed 
mony a hard nicht and day thegither, an’ yon 
wes oor reward. No mony men in this warld 
’ill ever get a better, for it cam’ from the hert 
o’ honest fouk. ” 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 209 


IV. 

THE doctor’s last JOURNEY. 

Drumtochty had a vivid recollection of the 
winter when Dr. MacLure was laid up for two 
months with a broken leg, and the Glen was 
dependent on the dubious ministrations of the 
Kildrummie doctor. Mrs. MacFadyen also 
pretended to recall a “whup” of some kind or 
other he had in the fifties, but this was con- 
sidered to be rather a pyrotechnic display of 
Elspeth’s superior memory than a serious state- 
ment of fact. MacLure could not have ridden 
through the snow of forty winters without 
suffering, yet no one ever heard him complain, 
and he never pled illness to any messenger by 
night or day. 

“It took me,’’ said Jamie Soutar to Milton 
afterward, “the feck o’ ten meenuts tae howk 
him an’ Jess oot ae snawy nicht when Drums 
turned bad sudden, and if he didna try to ex- 
cuse himself for no hearing me at aince wi’ 
some story aboot juist cornin’ in frae Glen 
Urtach, an no bein’ in his bed for the laist 
twa nicht. ^ 

“He westhat carefu’ o’ himsel’ an’ lazy that 
if it hedna been for the siller, a’ve often 

14 Brier Bush 


210 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

thocht, Milton, he wud never hae dune a hand- 
stroke o’ wark in the Glen. 

“What scunnered me wes the wy the bairns 
were ta’en in wi’ him. Man, a’ve seen him tak 
a wee laddie on his knee that his ain mither 
cudna quiet, an’ lilt ‘Sing a song o’ saxpence’ 
till the bit mannie wud be lauchin’ like a gude 
ane, an’ pooin’ the doctor’s beard. 

“As for the weemen, he fair cuist a glamor 
ower them; they’re daein’ naethin’ noo but 
speak aboot this body and the ither he cured, 
an’ hoo he aye hed a couthy word for sick fouk. 
Weemen hae nae discernment, Milton; tae hear 
them speak ye wud think Mac Lure hed been a 
releegious man like hersel’, although, as ye 
said, he wes little mair than a Gallio. 

“Bell Baxter was haverin’ awa in the shop 
tae sic an extent aboot the wy MacLure brocht 
roond Saunders when he hed the fever that a’ 
gied oot at the door, a’ wes that disgusted, an’ 
a’m telt when Tammas Mitchell heard the news 
in the smiddy he wes juist on the greetin’. 

“The smith said that he wes thinkin’ o’ 
Annie’s tribble, but ony wy a’ ca’ it rael 
bairnly. It’snalike Drumtochty ; ye’re setting 
an example, Milton, wi’ yir composure. But 
a’ mind ye took the doctor’s meesure as sune 
as ye cam’ intae the pairish.” 

It is the penalty of a cynic that he must have 
some relief for his secret grief, and Milton be- 
gan to weary of life in Jamie’s hands during 
those days. 

Drumtochty was not observant in the matter 
of health, but they had grown sensitive about 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 211 


Dr. MacLure, and remarked in the kirkyard 
all summer that he was failing. 

“ He wes aye spare/ ’ said Hillocks, “an’ he’s 
been sair twisted for the laist twenty year, but 
a’ never mind him booed till the year. An’ 
he’s gaein’ intae sma’ buke [bulk], an’ dinna 
like that, neeburs. 

“The Glen wudnadaeweel withoot Weelum 
MacLure, an’ he’s no as young as he wes. 
Man, Drumsheugh, ye micht wile him aff tae 
the saut water atween the neeps and the hairst. 
He’s been workin’ forty year for a holiday, 
an’ it’s aboot due.’ Drumsheugh was full of 
tact, and met MacLure quite by accident on 
the road. 

“Saunders ’ill no need me till the shearing 
begins,’’ he explained to the doctor, “an’ a’m 
gaein’ tae Brochty for a turn o’ the hot baths; 
they’re fine for the rheumatics. 

“Wull ye no come wi’ me for auld lang 
syne? it’s lonesome for a solitary man, an’ it 
would dae ye gude. ’’ 

“Na, na, Drumsheugh,’’ said MacLure, who 
understood perfectly, “a’ve dune a’ thae years 
withoot a break, an’ a’m laith [unwilling] tae 
be takin’ holidays at the tail end. 

“A’ll no be mony months wi’ ye thegither 
noo, an’ a’m wanting tae spend a’ the time a’ 
hev in the Glen. Ye see yersel’ that a’ll sune 
be getting ma lang rest, an’ a’ll no deny that 
a’m wearyin’ for it.’’ 

As autumn passed into winter, the Glen no- 
ticed that the doctor’s hair had turned gray, 
and that his manner had lost all its roughness. 


212 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


A feeling of secret gratitude filled their hearts, 
and they united in a conspiracy of attention. 
Annie Mitchell knitted a huge comforter in red 
and white, which the doctor wore in misery 
for one whole day, out of respect for Annie, 
and then hung in his sitting-room as a wall 
ornament. Hillocks used to intercept him with 
hot drinks, and one drifting day compelled him 
to shelter till the storm abated. Flora Camp- 
bell brought a wonderful compound of honey 
and whisky, much tasted in Auchindarroch, 
for his cough, and the mother of young Burn- 
brae filled his cupboard with black jam, as a 
healing measure. Jamie Soutar seemed to 
have an endless series of jobs in the doctor’s 
direction, and looked in “juist to rest himsel’ ” 
in the kitchen. 

MacLure had been slowly taking in the situa- 
tion, and at last he unburdened himself one 
night to Jamie. 

“What ails the fouk, think ye? for they’re 
aye lecturin’ me noo tae tak care o’ the weet 
and tae wrap masel’ up, an’ there’s no a week 
but they’re sendin’ bit presents tae the hoose, 
till a’m fair ashamed. ’’ 

‘ ‘ Oo, a’ll explain that in a meenut, ’ ’ answered 
Jamie, “for a’ ken the Glen weel. Ye see 
they’re juist tryin’ the Scripture plan o’ heapin’ 
coals o’ fire on yer head. 

“Here ye’ve been negleckin’ the fouk in 
seekness an’ lettin’ them dee afore their 
freends’ eyes withoot a fecht, an’ refusin’ tae 
gang tae a puir wumman in her tribble, an’ 
frichtenin’ the bairns — no, a’m no dune — and 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 213 


scourgin’ us wi’ fees, and livin’ yersel’ on the 
fat o’ the land. 

“Ye’ve been carryin’ on this trade ever sin 
yir father dee’d, and the Glen didna notis. 
But ma word, they’ve fund ye oot at laist, an’ 
they’re gaein’ tae mak ye suffer for a’ yir ill 
usage. Div ye understand noo?’’ said Jamie 
savagely. 

For a while MacLure was silent, and then 
he only said : 

“It’s little a’ did for the puir bodies; but ye 
hev a gude hert, Jamie, a rael gude hert. ’’ 

It was a bitter December Sabbath, and the 
fathers were settling the affairs of the parish 
ankle deep in snow, when MacLure’s old house- 
keeper told Drumsheugh that the doctor was 
not able to rise, and wished to see him in the 
afternoon. 

“Ay, ay,’’ said Hillocks, shaking his head, 
and that day Drumsheugh omitted four pews 
with the ladle, while Jamie was so vicious on 
the way home that none could endure him. 

Janet had lit a fire in the unused grate, and 
hung a plaid by the window to break the 
power of the cruel north wind, but the bare 
room with its half a dozen bits of furniture and 
a worn strip of carpet, and the outlook upon 
the snow drifted up to the second pane of the 
window and the black firs laden with their icy 
burden, sent a chill to Drumsheugh ’s heart. 

The doctor had weakened sadly, and could 
hardly lift his head, but his face lit up at the 
sight of his visitor, and the big hand, which 
was now quite refined in its whiteness, came 


214 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

out from the bed-clothes with the old warm 

grip. 

“Come in by, man, and sit doon; it’s an 
awfu’ day tae bring ye sae far, but a’ kent ye 
wudna grudge the traivel. 

“A’ wesna sure till last nicht, an’ then a’ 
felt it wudna be lang, an’ a’ took a wearyin’ 
this mornin’ tae see ye. 

“We’ve been freends sin’ we were laddies at 
the auld schule in the firs, an’ a’ wud like ye 
tae be wi’ me at the end. Ye’ill stay the nicht, 
Pai trick, for auld lang syne. ” 

Drumsheugh was much shaken, and the 
sound of the Christian name, which he had 
not heard since his mother’s death, gave him 
a “grue’’ [shiver], as if one had spoken from 
the other world. 

“It’s maist awfu’ tae hear ye speakin’ aboot 
deein’, Weelum; a’ canna bear it We’ill hae 
the Muirtown doctor up, an’ ye’ill be aboot 
again in nae time. 

“Ye hevna ony sair tribble; ye’re juist 
trachled wi’ hard wark an’ needin’ a rest. 
Dinna say ye’re gaein’ tae leave us, Weelum; 
we canna dae withoot ye in Drumtochty ;’’ and 
Drumsheugh looked wistfully for some word 
of hope. 

“Na, na, Paitrick; naethin’ can be dune, an’ 
it’s ower late tae send for ony doctor. There’s 
a knock that canna be mista’en, an’ a’ heard it 
last night. A’ve focht deith for ither fouk 
mair than forty year, but ma ain time hes 
come at laist. 

“A’ve nae tribble worth mentionin’ — a bit 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 215 

titch o’ bronchitis — an’ a’ve hed a graund con- 
stitution; but a’m fair worn oot, Paitrick; 
that’s ma complaint, an’ it’s past curin’.” 

Drumsheugh went over to the fireplace, and 
for a while did nothing but break up the smoul- 
dering peats whose smoke powerfully affected 
his nose and eyes. 

“When ye’re ready, Paitrick, there’s twa or 
three little trokes a’ wud like ye tae look aifter, 
an’ a’ll tell ye aboot them as lang’s ma head’s 
clear. 

“A’ didna keep buiks, as ye ken, for a’ aye 
hed a guid memory, so naebody ’ill be harried 
for money aifter ma deith, and ye’ill hae nae 
accounts tae collect. 

“But the fouk are honest in Drumtochty, 
and they’ill be offerin’ ye siller, an’ a’ll gie ye 
ma mind aboot it. Gin it be a puir body, tell 
her tae keep it and get a bit plaidie wi’ the 
money, and she’ill maybe think o’ her auld 
doctor at a time. Gin it be a bien [well-to-do] 
man, tak half of what he offers, for a Drum- 
tochty man wud scorn to be mean in sic circum- 
stances; and if onybody needs a doctor an’ 
canna pay for him, see he’s no left tae dee when 
a’m oot o’ the road.” 

“Nae fear o’ that as lang as a’m livin’, 
Weelum. That hundred's still tae the fore, 
ye ken, an’ a’ll tak care it’s weel spent. 

“Yon wes the best job we ever did thegither, 
an’ dookin’ Saunders; ye’ill no forget that 
nicht, Weelum,” — a gleam came into the doc- 
tor’s eye, — “tae say naethin’ o’ the Hielan’ 
fling.” 


216 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


The remembrance of that great victory came 
upon Drumsheugh, and tried his fortitude. 

“What ’ill become o’s when ye’re no here 
tae gie a hand in time o’ need? We’ill tak ill 
wi’ a stranger that disna ken ane o’s frae 
anither. ’’ 

“It’s a’ for the best, Paitrick, an’ ye’ill see 
that in a whilie. A’ve kent fine that ma day 
wes ower, an’ that ye sud hae a younger man. 

“A’ did what a’ cud tae keep up wi’ the new 
medicine, but a’ hed little time for readin’, an’ 
nane for traivellin. ’ 

“A’m the last o’ the auld schule, an’ a’ ken 
as weel as, onybody thet a’ wesna sae dainty 
an’ fine-mannered as the town doctors. Ye 
took me as a’ wes, an’ naebody ever cuist up 
tae me that a’ wes a plain man. Na, na; 
ye’ve been rael kind an’ conseederate a’ thae 
years. ’’ 

“Weelum, gin ^’’e cairry on sic nonsense ony 
langer,’’ interrupted Drumsheugh, huskily, 
“a’ll leave the hoose; a’ canna stand it.’’ 

“It’s the truth, Paitrick, but we’ill gae on 
wi’ our wark, for a’m failin’ fast. 

“Gie Janet ony sticks of furniture she needs 
tae furnish a hoose, and sell a’ thing else tae 
pay the wricht [undertaker] an’ bedrel [grave- 
digger.] If the new doctor be a young laddie 
and no verra rich, ye micht let him hae the 
buiks an’ instruments; it ’ill aye be a help. 

“But a’ wudna like ye tae sell Jess, for she’s 
been a faithfu’ servant, an’ a freend tae. 
There’s a note or twa in that drawer a’ savit, 
an’ if ye kent ony man that wud gie her a bite 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 217 


o’ grass and asta’ in his stable till she followed 
her maister ” 

“Confoond ye, Weelum, ’’broke out Drums- 
heugh; “its doonricht cruel o’ ye to speak like 
this tae me. Whar wud Jess gang but tae 
Drumsheugh? She’ill have her run o’ heck 
an’ manger sae lang as she lives; the Glen 
wudna like tae see anither man on Jess, and 
nae man ’ill ever touch the auld mare.’’ 

“Dinna mind me, Paitrick, for a’ expeckit 
this; but ye ken we’re no verra gleg wi’ oor 
tongues in Drumtochty, an’ dinna tell a’ that’s 
in oor hearts. 

“Weel, that’s a’ that a* mind, an’ the rest a’ 
leave tae yersel’. A’ve neither kith nor kin 
tae bury me, sae you and the neeburs ’ill need 
tae let me doon ; but gin Tammas Mitchell or 
Saunders be stannin’ near and lookin’ as if 
they wud like a cord, gie’t tae them, Paitrick. 
Their baith dour chiels, and haena muckle 
tae say, but Tammas hes a graund hert, and 
there’s waur fouk in the Glen than Saunders. 

“A’m gettin’ drowsy, an’ a’ll no be able tae 
follow ye sune, a’ doot ; wud ye read a bit tae 
me afore a’ fa’ ower? 

“Ye ’ill find rna mither’s Bible on the draw- 
ers’ heid, bnt ye'ill need tae come close tae the 
bed, for a’am no bearin’ or seein’ sae weel as 
a’ wes when ye cam’.’’ 

Drumsheugh put on his spectacles and 
searched for a comfortable Scripture, while 
the light of the lamp fell on his shaking hands 
and the doctor’s face, where the shadow was. 
now settling. 


218 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


“Ma mither aye wantit this read tae her 
when she wes sober” [weak], and Drumshengh 
began, “In My Father’s house are many man- 
sions,” but MacLure stopped him. 

“It’s a bonnie word, an’ yir mither wes a 
sanct; but it’s no for the like o’ me. It’s ower 
gude ; a’ dauma tak it. 

“Shut the buik an’ let it open itsel’, an’ 
ye’ill get a bit a’ve been readin’ every nicht 
the laist month. ’ ’ 

Then Drumsheugh found the Parable where- 
in the Master tells what God thinks of a Phari- 
see and of a penitent sinner, till he came to the 
words: “And the publican, standing afar off, 
would not lift up so much as his eyes to hea- 
ven, but smote upon his breast, saying, God be 
merciful to me a sinner. ” 

“That micht hae been written for me, Pait- 
rick, or ony ither auld sinner that hes feenished 
his life, an’ hes naething tae say for himsel’. 

“It wesna easy for me tae get tae kirk, but 
a’ cud hae managed wi’ a stretch, an’ a’ used 
langidge a’ sudna, an’ a’ micht hae been gen- 
tler, and no been so short in the temper. A’ 
see’t a’ noo. 

“It’s ower late tae mend, but ye’ill maybe 
juist say to the fouk that I wes sorry, an’ a’m 
houpin’ that the Almichty ’ill hae mercy on 
me. 

“Cud ye . . . pit up a bit prayer, Pai trick?” 

“A’ haena the words,” said Drumsheugh in 
great distress; “wud ye like’s tae send for the 
minister?” 

“It’s no the time for that noo, an’ a’ wud 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 219 


rather hae yersel’ — juist what’s in yir heart, 
Paitrick : the Almichty ’ill ken the lave [restl 
Himsel’.” 

So Drumsheugh knelt and prayed with many 
pauses. 

“Almichty God . . . dinna be hard on Wee- 
lum MacLure, for he’s no been hard wi’ ony- 
body in Drumtochty. ... Be kind tae him as 
he’s been tae us a’ for forty year. . . . We’re 
a’ sinners afore Thee. . . . Forgive him what 
he’s dune wrang, an’ dinna cuist it up tae him. 

. . . Mind the fouk he’s helpit . . . the wee- 
men an’ bairnes ... an’ gie him a welcome 
hame, for he’s sair needin’t aifter a’ his wark. 

. . . Amen.’’ 

“Thank ye, Paitrick, and gude nicht tae ye. 
Ma ain true freend, gie’s yir hand, for a’ll 
maybe no ken ye again. 

“Noo a’ll say ma mither’s prayer and hae a 
sleep, but ye’ill no leave me till a’ is ower. ’’ 

Then he repeated as he had done every night 
of his life : 

“This night I lay me down to sleep, 

I pray the Lord my soul to keep, 

And if I die before I wake, 

I pray the Lord my soul to take.” 

He was sleeping quietly when the wind 
drove the snow against the window with a 
sudden “swish’’ ; and he instantly awoke, so to 
say, in his sleep. Some one needed him. 

“Are ye frae Glen Urtach?’’ and an unheard 
voice seemed to have answered him. 


220 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

“Worse is she, an' sufferin’ awfu’ ; that’s no 
lichtsome; ye did richt tae come. 

“The front door’s drifted up; gang roond 
tae the back, an’ ye’ill get intae the kitchen; 
a’ll be ready in a meenut. 

“Gie’sahand wi’ the lantern when a’m said- 
ling Jess, an’ ye needna come on till daylicht; 
a’ ken the roai” 

Then he was away in his sleep on some 
errand of mercy, and struggling through the 
storm. 

“It’s a coorse nicht, Jess, an’ heavy trai vei- 
lin’ ; can ye see afore ye, lass? for a’m clean 
confused wi’ the snaw ; bide a wee till a’ find 
the diveesion o’ the roads ; it’s aboot here back 
or forrit. 

“Steady, lass, steady, dinna plunge; it’s a 
drift we’re in, but ye’re no sinkin’; ... up 
noo ; . . . there ye are on the road again. 

“Eh, it’s deep the nicht, an’ hard on us baith, 
but there’s a puir wumman micht dee if we 
didna warstle through; . . . that’s it; ye ken 
fine what a’m sayin’. 

“We’ill hae tae leave the road here, an’ tak 
tae the muir. Sandie ’ill no can leave the wife 
alane tae meet us; . . . feel for yersel’, lass, 
and keep oot o’ the holes. 

“Yon’s the hoose, black in the snaw. San- 
die! man, ye frichtened us; a’ dinna see ye 
ahint the dyke; hoo’s the wife?’’ 

After a while he began again : 

“Ye’re fair dune, Jess, and so a’ am maseT; 
we’re baith gettin’ auld, an’ dinna tak sae 
weel wi’ the nicht wark. 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 221 


“We ’ill sune be hame noo; this is the black 
wood, and it’s no lang aifter that; we’re ready 
for oor beds, Jess; . . . ay, ye like a clap at a 
time ; mony a mile we’ve gaed thegither. 

“Yon’s the licht in the kitchen window; nae 
wonder ye’re nickering [neighing]; . . . it’s 
been a stiff journey; a’m tired, lass . . . a’m 
tired taedeith,’’ and the voice died into silence. 

Drumsheugh held his friend’s hand, which 
now and again tightened in his, and as he 
watched, a change came over the face on the 
pillow beside him. The lines of weariness dis- 
appeared, as if God’s hand had passed over it; 
and peace began to gather round the closed 
eyes. 

The doctor has forgotten the toil of later 
years, and has gone back to his boyhood. 

“The Lord’s my Shepherd, I’ll not want,’’ 

he repeated, till he came to the last verse, and 
then he hesitated. 

“ ‘Goodness and mercy all my life 
Shall surely follow me. ' 

“Follow me . . . and . . . and. . . what’s 
next? Mither said I wes tae hae’t ready when 
she cam’. 

“ ‘ A’ll come afore ye gang tae sleep, Wullie, 
but ye’ill no get yir kiss unless ye can feenish 
the psalm. ’ 

“And ... in God’s house ... for ever- 
more my . . . hoo dis it rin? a’ canna mind 
the next word . . . my, my 


222 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


“It’s ower dark noo tae read it, an, mither 
’ill snne be cornin’.’’ 

Drumsheugh, in an agony, whispered into 
his ear, “ ‘My dwelling-place,’ Weelum. ’’ 

“That’s it, that’s it a’ noo; wha said it? 

“ ‘And in God’s house for evermore 
My dwelling-place shall be.’ 

“A’m ready noo, an’ a’ll get ma kiss when 
mither comes; a’ wish she wud come, for a’m 
tired an’ wantin’ tae sleep. 

“Yon’s her step . . . an’ she’s carryin’ a 
licht in her hand ; a’ see it through the door. 

“Mither! a* kent ye wudna forget yir laddie, 
for ye promised tae come, and a’ve feenished 
ma psalm. 

“ ‘And in God’s house for evermore 
My dwelling-place shall be.’ 

“Gie me the kiss, mither, for a’ve been 
waitin’ for ye, an’ a’ll sune be asleep.’’ 

The gray morning light fell on Drumsheugh, 
still holding his friend’s cold hand, and staring 
at a hearth where the fire had died down into 
white ashes; but the peace on the doctor’s face 
was of one who rested from his labors. 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 223 


V. 

THE MOURNING OF THE GLEN. 

Dr. MacLure was buried during the great 
snowstorm, which is still spoken of, and will 
remain the standard of snowfall in Drumtochty 
for the century. The snow was deep on the 
Monday, and the men that gave notice of his 
funeral had hard work to reach the doctor’s 
distant patients. On Tuesday morning it be- 
gan to fall again in heavy, fleecy flakes, and 
continued till Thursday, and then on Thursday 
the north wind rose and swept the snow into 
the hollows of the roads that went to the up- 
land farms, and built it into a huge bank at the 
mouth of Glen Urtach, and laid it across our 
main roads in drifts of every size and the most 
lovely shapes, and filled up crevices in the 
hills to the depth of fifty feet. 

On Friday morning the wind had sunk to 
passing gusts that powdered your coat with 
white, and the sun was shining on one of those 
winter landscapes no townsman can imagine 
and no countryman ever forgets. The Glen, 
from end to end and side to side, was clothed 
in a glistering mantle white as no fuller on 
earth could white it, that flung its skirts over 
the clumps of trees and scattered farmhouses. 


224 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

and was only divided where the Tochty ran 
with black, swollen stream. The great moor 
rose and fell in swelling billows of snow that 
arched themselves over the burns, running 
deep in the mossy ground, and hid the black 
peat bogs with a thin, treacherous crust. Be- 
yond the hills northward and westward stood 
high in white majesty, save where the black 
crags of Glen Urtach broke the line, and, above 
our lower Grampians we caught glimpses of 
the distant peaks that lifted their heads in 
holiness unto God. 

It seemed to me a fitting day for William 
MacLure’s funeral, rather than summer time, 
with its flowers and golden corn. He had not 
been a soft man, nor had he lived an easy life, 
and now he was to be laid to rest amid the 
austere majesty of winter, yet in the shining of 
the sun. Jamie Soutar, with whom I toiled 
across the Glen, did not think with me, but 
was gravely concerned. 

“Nae doot it’s a graund sicht; the like o’t is 
no gien tae us twice in a generation, an’ nae 
king wes ever carried tae his tomb in sic a 
cathedral. 

“But it’s the fouk a’m conseederin’, ae’ hoo 
they ’ill win through; it’s hard eneuch for 
them ’at’s on the road, an’ it’s clean impossi- 
ble for the lave. 

“They ’ill dae their best, every man o’ them, 
ye may depend on that, an’ hed it been open 
weather there wudna hev been six able-bodied 
men missin’. 

“A’ wes mad at them, because they never 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 225 


said onything when he wes leevin’, but they 
felt for a’ that what he hed dune, an’, a’ think, 
he kent it afore he deed. 

“He hed juist ae faut, tae ma thinkin’, fer a’ 
never jidged the waur o’ him for his titch of 
rochness — guid trees hae gnarled bark — but he 
thocht ower little o’ himsel’. 

“Noo, gin a’ hed asked him hoo mony fouk 
wud come tae his beerial, he wud hae said, 
‘They’ill be Drumsheugh an’ yersel’, an’ may- 
be twa or three neeburs besides the minister, ’ 
an’ the fact is that nae man in oor time wud 
hae sic a githerin’ if it werena for the storm. 

“Ye see,’’ said Jamie, who had been count- 
ing heads all morning, “there’s six shepherds 
in Glen Urtach — they’re shut up fast; an’ 
there micht hae been a gude half-dizen frae 
Dunleith wy, an’ a’m telt there’s nae road; an’ 
there’s the heich Glen, nae man cud cross the 
muir the day, an’ it’s aucht mile roond;’’ and 
Jamie proceeded to review the Glen in every 
detail of age, driftiness of road and strength of 
body, till we arrived at the doctor’s cottage, 
when he had settled on a reduction of fifty 
through stress of weather. 

Drumsheugh was acknowledged as chief 
mourner by the Glen, and received us at the 
gate with a labored attempt at every-day man- 
ners. 

“Ye’ve hed heavy traivellin’, a’ doot, an* 
ye’ill be cauld. It’s hard weather for the 
sheep, an’ a’m thinkin’ this ’ill be a feeding 
storm. 

“There wes nae use trying tae dig oot the 

15 6i ier Bush 


226 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

front door yestreen, for it would hae been 
drifted up again before morning. We’ve 
cleared awa the snow at the back for the prayer ; 
ye’ill get in at the kitchen door. 

“There’s a puckle Dunleith men ’’ 

“Wha!” cried Jamie in an instant. 

“Dunleith men,’’ said Drumsheugh. 

“Div ye mean they’re here, whar are they?’’ 

“Dryin’ themsel’s at the fire, an’ no withoot 
need; ane o’ them gied ower the head in a 
drift, and his neeburs hed tae pu’ him oot. 

“It took them a gude fower oors tae get 
across, an’ it wes coorse wark ; they likit him 
weel doon that wy, an’, Jamie man,’’ — here 
Drumsheugh’s voice changed its note, and his 
public manner disappeared — “what div ye 
think o’ this? every man o’ them hes on his 
blacks. ’’ 

“It’s mair than cud be expeckit, ’’ said Jamie ; 
“but whar dae yon ^men come frae, Drums- 
heugh?’’ 

Two men in plaids were descending the hill 
behind the doctor’s cottage, taking three feet 
at a stride, and carrying long staffs in their 
hands. 

“They’re Glen Urtach men, Jamie, for ane 
o’ them wes at Kildrummie fair wi’ sheep, but 
hoo they’ve wun doon passes me.’’ 

“It canna be, Drumsheugh,’’ said Jamie, 
greatly excited. “Glen Urtach’s steikit up wi’ 
sna’ like a locked door. 

“Ye’re no surely frae the Glen, lads?’’ as the 
men leaped the dyke and crossed to the back 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 227 


door, the snow falling from their plaids as they 
walked. 

“We’re that, an’ nae mistak, but a’ thocht 
we wud be lickit ae place, eh, Charlie? a’m no 
sae weel acquant wi’ the hill on this side, an’ 
there wer some kittle [hazardous] drifts. ” 

“It wes grand o’ ye tae mak the attempt,’’ 
said Drumsheugh, “an’ a’m gled ye’re safe.’’ 

“He cam’ through as bad himsel’ tae help 
my wife,” was Charlie’s reply. 

“They’re three mair Urtach shepherds ’ill 
come in by sune; they’re frae Upper Urtach, 
an’ we saw them fordin’ the river; ma certes, 
it took them a’ their time, for it wes up tae 
their waists and rinnin’ like a mill lade, but 
they jined hands and cam’ ower fine.’’ And 
the Urtach men went into the fire. 

The Glen began to arrive in twos and threes, 
and Jamie, from a point of vantage at the 
gate, and under an appearance of utter indiffer- 
ence, checked his roll till even he was satisfied. 

“Weelum MacLure ’ll hae the beerial he de- 
serves in spite o’ sna’ and drifts; it passes a’ 
tae see hoo they’ve githered frae far an’ near. 

“A’m thinkin’ ye can colleck them for the 
minister noo, Drumsheugh. A ’body’s here 
except the heich Glen, an’ we mauna luke for 
them. ” 

“Dinna be sae sure o’ that, Jamie. Yon’s 
terrible like them on the road, wi’ Whinnie at 
their head;’’ and so it was, twelve in all, only 
old Adam Ross absent, detained jDy force, being 
eighty-two years of age. 

“It wud hae been temptin’ Providence tae 


228 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


cross the muir, ” Whinnie explained, “and it’s 
a fell stap roond; a’ doot we’re laist. ’’ 

“See, Jamie,’’ said Drumsheugh, as he went 
to the house, “gin there be ony antern body 
in sicht afore we begin ; we maun mak alloo- 
ances the day wi’ twa feet o’ sna’ on the grund, 
tae sa}'’ naethin’ o’ drifts.’’ 

“There’s somethin’ at the turnin’, an’ it’s 
no fouk; it’s a machine o’ some kind or ither 
— maybe a bread cart that’s focht it’s wy up.’’ 

“Na, it’s no that; there’s twa horses, ane 
afore the ither; if it’s no a dogcairt wi’ twa men 
in the front; they’ll be cornin’ tae the beerial.’’ 

“What wud ye sae, Jamie,’’ Hillocks sug- 
gested, “but it micht be someo’thae Muirtown 
doctors? they were awfu’ chief wi’ MacLure. ’’ 

“It’s nae Muirtown doctors,’’ cried Jamie, 
in great exultation, “nor ony ither doctors. 
A’ ken thae horses, and wha’s ahint them. 
Quick, man. Hillocks, stop the fouk, and tell 
Drumsheugh tae come oot, for Lord Kilspin- 
dle hes come up frae Muirtown Castle.’’ 

Jamie himself slipped behind, and did not 
wish to be seen. 

“It’s the respeck he’s gettin’ the day frae 
high an’ low,’’ was Jamie’s husky apology; 
“tae think o’ them fechtin’ their wy doon frae 
Glen Urtach, and toilin’ roond frae the heich 
Glen, an’ his lordship drivin’ through the 
drifts a’ the road frae Muirtown, juist tae honor 
Weelum MacLure’s beerial. 

“It’s nae ceremony the day, ye may lippen 
tae it; it’s the hert brocht the fouk, an’ ye can 
see it in their faces; ilka man hes his ain rea- 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 229 


son, an* he’s thinkin’ on’t, though he’s 
speakin’ o’ naethin’ but the storm; he’s 
mindin’ the day Weelum pued him oot frae 
the jaws o’ death, or the nicht he savit the 
gude wife in her oor o’ tribble. 

“That’s why they pit on their blacks this 
mornin’ afore it wes licht, and warstled 
through the sna’ drifts at risk o’ life. Drum- 
tochty fouk canna say muckle, it’s an awfu’ 
peety, and they ’ill dae their best tae show 
naethin’, but a’ can read it a’ in their een. 

“But wae’s me’’ — and Jamie broke down 
utterly behind a fir tree, so tender a thing is a 
cynic’s heart — “that fouk ’ill tak a man’s best 
wark a’ his days withoot a word an’ no dae 
him honor till he dees. Oh, if they hed only 
githeredlike this juist aince when he wes livin,’ 
an’ lat him see he hedna labored in vain. 
His reward hes come ower late, ower late.’’ 

During Jamie’s vain regret, the Castle trap, 
bearing the marks of a wild passage in the 
snow-covered wheels, a broken shaft tied with 
rope, a twisted lamp, and the panting horses, 
pulled up between two rows of farmers, and 
Drumsheugh received his lordship with evi- 
dent emotion. 

“Ma lord ... we never thocht o’ this . . . 
an’ sic a road.’’ 

“How are you, Drumsheugh? and how are 
you all this wintry day? That’s how I’m half 
an hour late ; it took us four hours’ stiff work 
for sixteen miles, mostly in the drifts, of 
course. ’’ 

“It wes gude o’ yir lordship tae mak’ sic an 


230 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


effort, an’ the hale Glen wull be gratefu’ tae 
ye, for ony kindness tae him is kindness tae 
us. ” 

“You make too much of it, Drumsheugh,’’ 
and the clear, firm voice was heard of all; “it 
would have taken more than a few snowdrifts 
to keep me from showing my respect to William 
MacLure’s memory.” 

When all had gathered in a half circle before 
the kitchen door, Lord Kilspindle came out — 
every man noticed he had left his overcoat, 
and was in black, like the Glen — and took a 
place in the middle with Drumsheugh and 
Burnbrae, his two chief tenants, on the right 
and left, and as the minister appeared every 
man bared his head. 

The doctor looked on the company — a hun- 
dred men such as for strength and gravity you 
could hardly have matched in Scotland — stand- 
ing out in picturesque relief against the white 
background, and he said: 

“It’s a bitter day, friends, and some of you 
are old; perhaps it might be wise to cover 
your heads before I begin to pray.” 

Lord Kilspindle, standing erect and gray- 
headed between the two old men, replied: 

“We thank you. Dr. Davidson, for your 
thoughtfulness ; but he endured many a storm 
in our service, and we are not afraid of a few 
minutes’ cold at his funeral.” 

A look flashed round the stern faces, and 
was reflected from the minister, who seemed 
to stand higher. 

His prayer, we noticed with critical apprecia- 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 231 


tion, was composed for the occasion, and the 
first part was a thanksgiving to God for the 
life-work of our doctor, wherein each clause 
was a reference to his services and sacrifices. 
No one moved or said Amen, — it had been 
strange with us, — but when every man had 
heard the gratitude of his dumb heart offered 
to Heaven, there was a great sigh. 

After which the minister prayed that we 
might have grace to live as this man had done 
from youth to old age, not for himself, but 
for others, and that we might be followed to 
our grave by somewhat of “that love where- 
with we mourn this day Thy servant de- 
parted.” Again the same sigh, and the min- 
ister said Amen. 

The “wricht” stood in the doorway without 
speaking, and four stalwart men came for- 
ward. They were the volunteers that would 
lift the coffin and carry it for the first stage. 
One was Tammas, Annie Mitchell’s man; and 
another was Saunders Baxter, for whose life 
MacLure had his great fight with Death ; and 
the third was the Glen Urtach shepherd for 
whose wife’s sake MacLure suffered a broken 
leg and three fractured ribs in a drift; and 
the fourth, a Dunleith man, had his own rea- 
sons for remembrance. 

“He’s far lichter than ye wud expeck for sae 
big a man — there wesna muckle left o’ him, 
ye see — but the road is heavy, and a’ 11 change 
ye aifter the first half mile.” 

“Ye needna tribble yerself, wricht,” said 
the man from Glen Urtach; “the’ill be nae 


232 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


change in the carryin’ the day,” and Taminas 
was thankful some one had saved him speak- 
ing. 

Surely no funeral is like unto that of a doctor 
for pathos, and a peculiar sadness fell on that 
company as his body was carried out who for 
nearly half a century had been their help in 
sickness, and had beaten back Death time 
after time from their door. Death after all 
was victor, for the man that saved them had 
not been able to save himself. 

As the coffin passed the stable door a horse 
neighed within, and every man looked at his 
neighbor. It was his old mare crying for her 
master. 

Jamie slipped into the stable, and went up 
into the stall. 

“Puir lass,ye’re no gaein’ wi’ him the day, 
an’ ye’ill never see him again; ye’ve hed yir 
last ride thegither, an’ ye were true tae the 
end.” 

After the funeral Drumsheugh came himself 
for Jess, and took her to his farm. Saunders 
made a bed for her with soft, dry straw, and 
prepared for her supper such things as horses 
love. Jess would neither take food nor rest, 
but moved uneasily in her stall, and seemed to 
be waiting for some one that never came. No 
man knows what a horse or a dog understands 
and feels, for God hath not given them our 
speech. If any footstep was heard in the court- 
yard, she began to neigh, and was always look- 
ing around as the door opened. But nothing 
would tempt her to eat, and in the night-time 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 233 

Drumsheugh heard her crying as if she ex- 
pected to be taken out for some sudden 
journey. The Kildrummie veterinary came 
to see her, and said that nothing could be done 
when it happened after this fashion with an old 
horse. 

“A’ve seen it aince afore,” he said. *‘Gin 
she were a Christian instead o’ a horse, ye 
micht say she was dying o’ a broken hert. ” 

He recommended that she should be shot to 
end her misery, but no man could be found in 
the Glen to do the deed, and Jess relieved them 
of the trouble. When Drumsheugh went to 
the stable on Monday morning, a week after 
Dr. MacLure fell on sleep, Jess was resting at 
last, but her eyes were open and her face 
turned to the door. 

‘‘She wes a’ the wife he hed, ” said Jamie, 
as he rejoined the procession, “an’ they luved 
ane anither week ’ ’ 

The black thread wound itself along the 
whiteness of the Glen, the coffin first, with his 
lordship and Drumsheugh behind, and the 
others as they pleased, but in closer ranks than 
usual, because the snow on either side was 
deep, and because this was not as other funer- 
als. They could see the women standing at 
the door of every house on the hillside, and 
weeping, for each family had some good reason 
in forty years to remember MacLure. When 
Bell Baxter saw Saunders alive, and the coffin 
of the doctor that saved him ori her man’s 
shoulder, she bowed her head on the dyke, 
and the bairns in the village made such a wail 


234 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 

for him they loved that the men nearly dis- 
graced themselves. 

“A’m gled we’re through that, at ony rate,*' 
said Hillocks; “he wes awfu’ taen up wi’ the 
bairns, conseederin' he hed nane o’ his ain. ’’ 

There was only one drift on the road between 
his cottage and kirkyard, and it had been cut 
early that morning. 

Before daybreak Saunders had roused the 
lads in the bothy, and they had set to work by 
the light of lanterns with such good will that, 
when Drumsheugh came down to engineer a 
circuit for the funeral, there was a fair pass- 
age, with walls of snow twelve feet high on 
either side. 

“Man, Saunders,’’ he said, “this wes a kind 
thocht, and rael weel dune. ’ ’ 

But Saunders’ only reply was this : 

“Mony a time he’s hed tae gang roond; he 
micht as weel hae an open road for his last 
traivel. ’* 

When the coffin was laid down at the mouth 
of the grave, the only blackness in the white 
kirkyard, Tammas Mitchell did the most 
beautiful thing in all his life. He knelt down 
and carefully wiped off the snow the wind had 
blown upon the coffin, and which had covered 
the name, and when he had done this he dis- 
appeared behind the others, so that Drums- 
heugh could hardly find him to take a cord. 
For these were the eight that buried Dr. Mac- 
Lure — Lord Kilspindie at the head as landlord 
and Drumsheugh at the feet as his friend; the 
^wo ministers of the parish came first on the 


BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 235 


right and left ; then Burnbrae and Hillocks of 
the farmers, and Saunders and Tamm as for 
the ploughmen. So the Glen he loved laid 
him to rest. 

When the bedrel had finished his work and 
the turf had been spread, Lord Kilspindie 
spoke : 

“Friends of Drumtochty, it would not be 
right that we should part in silence and no man 
say what is in every heart. We have buried 
the remains of one that served this Glen with 
a devotion that has known no reserve, and a 
kindliness that never failed, for more than forty 
years. I have seen many brave men in my 
day, but no man in the trenches of Sebastopol 
carried himself more knightly than William 
MacLure. You will never have heard from his 
lips what I may tell you to-day, that my father 
secured for him a valuable post in his younger 
days, and he preferred to work among his own 
people ; and I wished to do many things for 
him when he was old, but he would have noth- 
ing for himself. He will never be forgotten 
while one of us lives, and I pray that ail doc- 
tors everywhere may share his spirit. If it 
be your pleasure, I shall erect a cross above 
his grave and shall ask my old friend and com- 
panion, Dr. Davidson, your minister, to choose 
the text to be inscribed. “ 

“We thank you. Lord Kilspindie,” said the 
doctor, ‘ ‘ for your presence with us in our sor- 
row and your tribute to the memory of Wil- 
liam MacLure, and I choose this for his text: 


236 BESIDE THE BONNIE BRIER BUSH. 


“ ‘Greater love hath no man this this, that a 
man lay down his life for his friends. ’ ’ ’ 

Milton was, at that time, held in the bonds 
of a very bitter theology, and his indignation 
was stirred by this unqualified eulogium. 

“No doubt Dr. MacLure hed mony natural 
virtues, an’ he did his wark weel, but it was a 
peety he didna mak mair profession o’ re- 
leegion. ’’ 

“When William MacLure appears before the 
Judge, Milton,’’ said Lachlan Campbell, who 
that day spoke his last words in public, and they 
were in defense of charity, “He will not be 
asking him about his professions, for the doc- 
tor’s judgment hass been ready long agO; and 
it iss a good judgment, and you and I will be 
happy men if we get the like of it. 

“It iss written in the Gospel, but it iss Wil- 
liam MacLure that will not be expecting it. ’’ 

“What is’t, Lachlan?’’ asked Jamie Souter 
eagerly. 

The old man, now very feeble, stood in the 
middle of the road, and his face, once so hard, 
was softened into a winsome tenderness. 

“ ‘Come, ye blessed of My Father ... I was 
sick, and ye visited Me. ’ ’ ’ 


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W. B. CORKEY COIDPBIIY’S PdRUCBTIORS 

COMPLETE LIST OF THE POETIC AND PROSE 

WORKS OF 

Ella Wheeler Wilcox 


POEMS OF PASSION. 12mo, cloth, $1.00. Presentation 
Edition— white vellum, gold top, $1.50. Presentation 
Edition — half calf, gold top, $2.50. 

POEMS OF PASSION. Quarto, cloth. Illustrated 
Edition, $1.50. 

POEMS OF PASSION. Pocket Edition, Illustrated — 16mo, 
cloth, 75 cents; full morocco, gold edges, $2.50. 

Human nature is less of a mystery after the reading of this book. 
“Only a woman of genins could produce such a remarkable 
vrork.,"— Illustrated London News. 

MAURINE AND OTHER POEMS. 12mo. cloth, $1.00. 
Presentation Edition— white vellum, gold top, $1.50. 
Presentation Edition — half calf, gold top, $2.50. 
Beautiful thoughts and healthy inspiration in every line. 
“Maurine is an ideal poem about a perfect woman.”— T/ie South. 

POEMS OF PLEASURE. 12mo. cloth, $1.00. Presenta- 
tion Edition— white vellum, gold top, $1.50. Presenta- 
tion Edition — half calf, gold top, $2.50. 

These poems make life doubly sweet and cheerful. 

“Mrs. Wilcox is an artist with a touch that reminds one of 
Lord Byron’s impassionate strains.”— Paris Register. 

THREE WOMEN. 12mo, cloth, $1.00. Presentation 
Edition— art binding, gold top, boxed. $1.50, 

Her latest and greatest poem. This marvelous narrative of 
thrilling interest depicts the lives of three good and beautiful 
women in every phase of weakness^ passion, pride, love, sympathy 
and tenderness. 

AN AMBITIOUS MAN. (Prose.) 12mo. cloth. $1.00. 

“Vivid realism stands forth from every page of this fascinating 
book .” — Every Day. 


WORKS Of ELLA WHEELER WILCOX (Continued) 


HOW SALVATOR WON AND OTHER POEMS. 12mo. 
cloth, $1.(X). Presentation Edition — white vellum, gold 
top, $1.50. Presentation Edition— half calf, gold top, 
$2.50. 

A choice collection of recitations, specially compiled for read- 
ers and impersonators. 

*‘Her name is a household word. Her great power lies in depict- 
ing human emotions; and in handling that grandest of all passions 
— love— she wields the pen of a master.”— T/ie Saturday Record. 

CUSTER AND OTHER POEMS. Handsomely illustrated. 
12mo, cloth, $1.00. Presentation Edition — white vellum, 
gold top, $1.50. Presentation Edition— half calf, gold 
top, $2.50. 

A grand epic of the exploits and massacre of the immortal 
Custer. 

“One cannot help gaining new impetus for the spiritual exist- 
ence from coming in contact, mentally, with such ideal sentiments 
and emotions as this rarely gifted poetess voices in magnificent 
yoTBe."— Universal Truth. 

AN ERRING WOMAN'S LOVE. 12mo, cloth. $1.00. 
Presentation Edition — white vellum, gold top, $1.50. 
Presentation Edition — half calf, gold top, $2.50. 

“Power and pathos characterize this magnificent poem, A 
deep understanding of life and an intense sympathy are beauti^ 
fully expressed.”— rritune. 

MEN, WOMEN AND EMOTIONS. (Prose.) 12mo, heavy 
enameled paper cover, 50 cents ; English cloth, $1.00. 

A skillful analysis of social habits, customs and follies. 

“Her fame has reached all parts of the world, and her popular- 
ity seems to grow with each succeeding year .” — A merican Newsman. 

THE BEAUTIFUL LAND OF NOD. (Poems, songs and 
stories.) With over sixty original illustrations. Quarto, 
cloth, $1.00. 

The delight of the nursery. A charming mother’s book. 

“The foremost baby’s book of the world."- iVe«» Orleans 
Picayune. 

PRESENTATION SETS. Poems of Passion, Maurine, 
Poems of Pleasure, How Salvator Won. and Custer, are 
supplied in sets of 3, 4, or 5 titles, as may be desired, in 
neat boxes, without extra charge. 

ELLA WHEELER WILCOX’S WORKS are for sale by leading book- 
sellers everywhere, or will be sent postpaid on receipt of price by 
the Publishers. 

W. B. CONKBY COMPANY, Chicago 



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